MARGERY 
MORRIS 


OF  GMJF.  LWWART, 


AN    OLD    FAMILY    RETAINER 


MARGERY 
MORRIS 


Illustrated   by 

ADA  C.  WILLIAMSON 


THE     PENN     PUBLISHING 

COMPANY  PHILADELPHIA 

1920 


COPYRIGHT 

1917       BY 

THE  PBNN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


Morrl* 


BETSET-JANE-O 


2129700 


Introduction 

MARGERY  MORRIS  is  the  story  of  the  experi- 
ences of  a  young  girl  in  a  quaint  old  Quaker 
town  in  New  Jersey.  It  tells  of  the  friends 
she  makes,  of  the  fun  and  mishaps  she  has, 
and  of  the  great  surprise  she  receives  at  the 
end. 

Much  against  her  will  she  visits  her  grand- 
father, whom  she  has  not  seen  since  she  was  a 
child,  and  her  visit  does  not  begin  happily. 
But  the  kindly  welcome  of  the  old  house- 
keeper, the  jolly  comradeship  of  two  boy 
cousins,  and  the  friendship  of  a  girl  of  her 
own  age,  Polly  Jameson,  help  to  remedy  her 
discontent.  The  boys  and  girls  have  much 
wholesome  fun,  and  Margery  blunders  into 
not  a  few  scrapes.  Events  occur  which  cause 
her  distress  and  finally  a  strange  discovery. 
Through  her  own  trouble  she  learns  the  truth 
of  a  verse  the  old  doctor  teaches  her  : 

"  Two  things  stand  like  stone, 
Kindness  in  your  neighbor's  trouble, 
Courage  in  your  own." 
5 


6  INTRODUCTION 

The  following  book  will  tell  of  the  winter 
Margery  spends  with  her  grandfather,  her 
devotion  to  him,  and  the  jolly  times  she  and 
Polly  Jameson  have  with  the  other  girls  and 
boys. 


Contents 

I.  ANOTHER  RELATIVE     .        .        .        ,  II 

II.  DICK  EXPLAINS 22 

III.  AT  THE  FARM     .         ....  32 

IV.  DEBORAH    .        .        .        .        ,        •  47 
V.  TEMPE  WICK 68 

VI.  AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S   ....  89 

VII.  BENJIE        ......  101 

VIII.  SCHOOL 115 

IX.  ESTHER 128 

X.  THE  L.  A.  L 141 

XI.  PUMPKINS 156 

XII.  THEY  VISIT  THE  CITY         .        .        .  179 

XIII.  THE  DEAF-MUTES       ....  195 

XIV.  "  I'M  SORRY,  DICK  "   .         .        .        .208 
XV.  THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO         .         .         .  223 

XVI.  RESPONSIBILITIES          ....  243 

XVII.  RICE 260 

XVIII.  THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS  ....  269 

XIX.  "THAT  BABY  Is  ME!"       .         .         .288 

XX.  "WHOO?  WHOO?"    .         .        .        .297 

XXI.  MARGERY  AND  POLLY  DINE  WITH  THE 

DOCTOR 316 

XXII.  AT  LAST    ...                         .  331 


Illustrations 

PAGE 

"  AN  OLD  FAMILY  RETAINER  "  .         .  Frontispiece 

IF  ONLY  SHE  HAD  NOT  BEEN  So  HATEFUL  .  92 
"WHY,  YOU'VE  SOME  FUN  IN  You,  AFTER  ALL  !  "  136 
"  WHAT'S  THIS  IN  THE  FRYING-PAN  ?  "  .  265 

A  HAND  WAS  SLIPPED  INTO  HERS      .        .        .     325 


Margery  Morris 


Margery  Morris 

CHAPTER  I 

ANOTHER   RELATIVE 

"  HELLO,  DICK  !  I  just  tried  to  get  you  on 
the  'phone,  but  they  said  you  were  out.  I 
want  you  to  come  for  supper  to-night.  Uncle 
Jack's  coming  down  on  this  train, — and,  I 
say,  Dick,  you  ought  to  hear  him  talk  !  He's 
just  been  made  a  scout-master,  you  know." 

The  boy  addressed  dug  the  point  of  his  shoe 
into  a  crack  between  the  boards  of  the  station 
platform.  "  Can't,"  he  said,  disconsolately. 
"Sorry,  Sam.  I've  got  to  meet  this  train,  and 
take  the  cousin  that's  coming  on  it  out  to  the 
farm.  And  then  hang  around  and  do  the 
polite,  I  suppose, — worse  luck  !  " 

Sam  whistled.  "  Another  '  dear  cousin,' 
eh  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  grin.  The  never-end- 
ing stream  of  relatives  who  came  to  visit  at 

11 


12  MARGERT  MORRIS 

the  Morris  farm  was  a  constant  source  of 
amusement  to  the  people  of  Renwyck's  Town. 
"  I  thought  your  grandfather  was  still  away." 

"  He  is."  Dick  whirled  on  his  heel,  and 
tried  putting  the  point  of  his  other  shoe  into 
the  crack  in  the  platform.  "  But  this  dear 
relative  seems  to  be  coming,  whether  or  no. 
I  think  it's  a  girl,  too, — worse  luck." 

"  Anyhow,  that's  better  than  five  old 
ladies,"  consoled  Sam,  and  both  boys  laughed. 
The  five  old  ladies  who  had  arrived  in  a  body 
at  the  Morris  farm,  several  months  before, 
were  still  fresh  in  their  minds.  "  But  who  is 
this  one  ?  You're  a  clam,  Dick  !  You  didn't 
say  a  word  about  her  yesterday." 

"  Didn't  know  she  was  coming !  I  suppose 
Grandfather  knows, — I've  forwarded  a  lot  of 
letters  to  him  up  there  in  Canada, — but  I 
haven't  heard  a  word  from  him  for  two 
weeks.  I  guess  he  is  pretty  well  snowed  up." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  coming 
now  ? "  queried  Sam,  who  had  a  masterly 
mind  for  details.  Besides,  the  Morris  farm — 
when  its  owner  was  away — was  a  paradise 
for  the  boys  of  Renwyck's  Town,  and  Sam 
felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  know  something 


ANOTHER  RELATIVE          13 

about  the  feminine  serpent  who  was  to  invade 
his  Eden. 

"  Oh,  she  sent  a  telegram  from  the  city. 
They  'phoned  it  out  from  the  telegraph  office, 
and  old  Thomas  answered  the  'phone,  so  all 
that  we  know  is  :  '  dat  Miss  Margaret  Morris 
done  arrived  at  Philadelphia,  and  will  be 
down  on  the  five-fohty-foh.'  The  only  Mar- 
garet Morris  that  I  can  think  of  is  Uncle 
Harry's  daughter.  They  always  call  her 
'  Bunnie,'  but  her  real  name  is  Margaret,  I 
think.  They  were  living  in  Texas  last 
winter,  and  she  was  coming  on  for  a  visit 
then ;  but  something  happened ;  she  had 
measles,  or  something,  and  she  didn't  come. 
However,  I'll  know  all  about  her  soon 
enough,"  and  Dick  looked  as  bored  at  the 
prospect  as  he  felt. 

"  I  hope  Deborah  doesn't  get  mad  about  it, 
and  leave,"  he  added  pessimistically.  "  She's 
the  only  housekeeper  we've  had  that's  any 
good  since  old  Matilda  died.  It's  hard  on 
her,  our  having  so  much  company." 

Sam  grinned.  "  What  makes  you  have 
such  a  lot  ? "  he  asked,  although  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Dick's  grandfather  found 


H  MARGERT  MORRIS 

more  congenial  society  in  the  score  of  semi- 
dependent  relatives  living  at  a  distance  and 
bound  to  him  by  the  ties  of  kinship  and 
gratitude,  and  the  debt  due  to  ungrudging 
hospitality,  than  he  did  in  his  neighbors  at 
Renwyck's  Town,  who  were  not  inclined  to 
overlook  his  crotchets  and  peculiarities. 

Dick  flushed,  and  dug  his  toe  deeper  into 
the  crack.  "  Well,  it's  right  to  be  hospitable," 
he  declared,  loyal  as  always  to  the  grand- 
father who  was  often  needlessly  severe  with 
him.  "  Grandfather  believes  in  '  holding  by 
the  family,'  he  says.  As  long  as  anybody  has 
a  drop  of  Morris  blood  in  his  veins,  he  says  he 
is  welcome  to  come  as  often,  and  stay  as  long 
as  he  likes, — he's  kind  of  crazy  over  the 
name,  I  guess.  Besides,  he  says  he  hates  this 
modern  stingy  way  of  just  asking  people  to  a 
meal  in  a  restaurant.  To  tell  the  truth," 
Dick  admitted,  "  if  there  weren't  so  many 
cousins  I'd  take  more  interest  in  them. 
Thank  fortune,  we  are  only  distantly  related 
to  most  of  the  Morrises  living  in  Renwyck's 
Town  now.  I  don't  take  any  stock  in  Uncle 
Harry,  though,"  he  finished,  going  back  to 
the  subject  of  the  coming  visitor,  "or  in  any 


ANOTHER  RELATIVE          15 

that  belong  to  him.  He  was  so  mean  to 
Mother  before  she  died." 

Sam  was  silent ;  he  and  Dick  had  discussed 
before  the  relations  between  Mrs.  Ball  and 
her  brother.  "  When  I  'phoned  to  you,"  he 
remarked  after  an  interval  in  which  both 
boys  idly  watched  a  small  dog  that,  having 
lost  its  master,  was  making  a  great  to-do  over 
the  fact,  "  Thomas  wouldn't  tell  me  where 
you  were.  He  just  kept  saying  that  it  was 
his  *  scanctification  '  that  you  were  out." 

"  They  had  a  new  preacher  at  the  African 
Methodist  Tabernacle  last  Sunday, — he  must 
have  used  the  word  '  scanctification,'  for  ever 
since  then  Thomas  has  been  saying  it  all  the 
time.  Don't  you  remember  how  he  used  to 
say  that  everything  was  his  'jurisdiction'? 
It  was  his  'jurisdiction '  that  it  was  a  cold 
day,  and  his  'jurisdiction'  that  breakfast  was 
ready.  Hey,  George,"  hailing  a  passing  bag- 
gageman, "  isn't  that  train  late  ?  " 

The  baggageman  pulled  out  his  watch. 
"  Yep, — about  five  minutes.  Guess  a  mos- 
quito's on  the  track."  He  paused  for  the 
laugh  which,  for  the  past  fifteen  years,  his 
pet  joke  had  seldom  failed  to  earn.  "  Ha  I 


16  MARGERT  MORRIS 

Ha  I  Yes,  I  guess  a  mosquito's  on  the  track. 
Waiting  for  some  relations,  Dick?"  he  asked, 
with  the  familiarity  of  the  small  town. 

"  Yes,"  Dick  answered  shortly ;  he  was 
growing  rather  sensitive  about  relatives. 

"  There's  Dr.  Huston  over  there,"  went  on 
the  baggageman,  not  a  bit  abashed ;  "  he's 
waiting  for  a  doctor  from  the  city,  come  down 
to  consult  with  him  over  old  Mr.  Henry 
Morris,  over  on  the  Pike, — he's  pretty  sick, 
they  say.  Heart,  you  know.  Comes  from 
livin'  so  many  years  in  foreign  countries,  I 
guess.  Sakes  I  Think  of  the  queer  things 
people  eat  in  those  outlandish  places, — no 
wonder  they  get  sick  when  they  grow  older. 
And  I  don't  want  no  city  doctors,  either  1 
Old  Dr.  Huston  is  good  enough  for  me,  I  tell 
you  what !  Why,  the  way  he  brought  my 
wife  through  that  spell  of  lumbago, — yes ;  by 
jingo,  Miss  Harkinson  !  I  did  forget  to  check 
that  trunk  !  S'long,  boys." 

Meanwhile,  on  the  train  that  shuffled  and 
shook  nearer  and  nearer  to  Renwyck's  Town, 
Margery  Morris  was  sitting  huddled  into  a 
corner  of  the  faded,  plush-covered  car-seat, 
a  thoroughly  tired,  cross,  and  resentful  girl. 


ANOTHER  RELATIVE          17 

What  a  tiresome,  pokey  train  it  was  !  And 
what  common,  stupid-looking  passengers — 
how  could  any  sane  person  wear  a  hat  as 
hideous  as  that  perched  on  the  scant,  sandy 
locks  of  the  woman  in  front  of  her  ?  She 
supposed  that  woman  was  a  fair  sample  of  the 
entire  population  of  Renwyck's  Town. 

The  brakeman  went  through  the  car  light- 
ing the  oil  lamps  suspended  from  the  ceiling. 
"  Renwyck's  Town's  next, — I  guess  you'll  be 
glad,"  he  remarked  as  he  passed  by. 

Margery  nodded  coldly  and  pressed  her  face 
closer  to  the  window,  staring  out  with  unsee- 
ing eyes  at  the  melancholy  brown  fields. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  she  sulked,  "  I  can  dance 
with  the  mosquitoes,  and  hobnob  with  the 
whippoorwills.  Oh,  dear,  why  couldn't  Mamma 
and  Papa  have  allowed  me  to  spend  the  winter 
with  Marie  Smythe?  It  was  such  a  perfect  in- 
vitation I  And  we  would  have  had  so  much 
fun  !  I  don't  see  why,  just  because  Papa  and 
Mamma  had  to  go  to  Japan  on  business,  I 
have  to  be  shipped  on  here  like — like  a  barrel 
of  oranges ! "  ^ 

The  pretty,  high-bred  little  face  that  would 
have  been  so  charming  but  for  the  haughty 


1 8  MARGERT  MORRIS 

droop  to  the  mouth  grew  more  sullen  and  re- 
sentful still. 

"  It  mightn't  have  been  so  bad,"  she  went 
on  scolding  to  herself,  "  if  I  had  waited  un- 
til after  Christmas  to  come  East,  as  we  had 
planned."  A  long,  gusty  sigh  stirred  the 
sandy  locks  of  the  woman  in  front  of  her. 

Margery  considered  that  it  would  have  been 
bad  enough  to  have  to  go  to  Renwyck's  Town 
at  all,  without  having  to  leave  home  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice  three  months  ahead  of  time, 
merely  because  her  father  had  decided  that  he 
wanted  to  sail  for  Japan  immediately.  Busi- 
ness could  wait !  And  the  traveling  com- 
panions she  had  been  given  !  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  as  she  thought  of  her  tribulations 
in  traveling  with  a  dull,  middle-aged  couple, 
who,  instead  of  escorting  her  all  the  way  to 
her  grandfather's  at  Renwyck's  Town,  as  had 
been  planned,  must  needs  consign  her  to  the 
care  of  the  train  conductor,  and  rush  off  for 
the  Washington  limited ;  panic-stricken  over 
the  news  of  their  granddaughter's  sudden  ill- 
ness at  her  boarding-school. 

"  Renwyck's  Town  !  Renwyck's  Town  1 " 
bawled  the  brakeman. 


ANOTHER  RELATIVE          19 

Her  grumbling  interrupted  for  the  time 
being,  Margery  gathered  together  her  maga- 
zines, bag  and  the  big  box  of  candy  that  poor 
anxious  Mr.  Van  Pelt  had  thrust  into  her 
hand  as  he  put  her  on  the  train. 

The  arrival  of  the  afternoon  train  at  Ren- 
wyck's  Town  was  a  social  event,  and  a  jolly 
crowd  waited  on  the  platform  to  welcome 
friends  and  relatives.  Rather  dazed  by  the 
hubbub,  Margery  stood  stock-still,  very  much 
in  the  way,  to  the  annoyance  of  a  dressy  young 
woman  who  was  eagerly  hailing  some  one  as 
"  stranger."  Margery  gazed  at  her  scornfully, 
a  gaze  that  was  suddenly  obliterated  when  a 
fat  woman  bumped  into  her  and  knocked  her 
hat  down  over  her  eyes,  while  at  the  same  time 
a  rosy-faced  boy  walked  over  her  feet  in  his 
enthusiasm  at  meeting  some  one  he  called 
"  Uncle  Jack."  Straightening  her  hat  as  well 
as  she  could  for  hands  occupied  with  umbrella, 
magazines,  candy  and  valise,  she  limped  to 
one  side  of  the  platform  and  looked  about  her 
for  her  grandfather. 

But  where  was  he?     With  a  worried  frown, 
her   eyes   eagerly   searched  the  little   crowd.  ( 
A  tall,  white-haired  old  man  with  a  kind,  sad 


20  MARGERT  MORRIS 

face  hurried  forward.  This  was  he?  No, 
he  greeted  a  pompous,  well-dressed  man  who 
carried  a  surgeon's  bag,  and  who  hailed  him  as 
"  Dr.  Huston,"  and  they  went  away  together. 

Margery  drew  back  and  looked  about  her 
almost  with  despair, — oh,  why  didn't  he 
come?  The  platform  was  practically  empty 
now, — where  could  he  be?  She  wished  that 
tall  boy  with  the  funny  cap  on  the  back  of 
his  head  would  stop  staring  at  her  so ;  why 
didn't  her  grandfather  come  ? 

"  Well,"  she  thought  wearily,  "  I  shall  have 
to  go  to  the  station-master  and  see  if  he  can 
get  me  a  carriage  to  take  me  to  Grandpapa's 
house."  Picking  up  her  bag,  she  started 
toward  the  ticket  office. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  aren't  you  Miss  Morris?  " 
Dick  stepped  forward  and  lifting  his  cap, 
clutched  it  as  though  it  were  a  life  preserver. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery. 

"  Thought  you  were,"  and  Dick  took  her 
bag,  and  attempted  to  take  the  box  of  choco- 
lates, which  he  promptly  dropped. 

"  Yes,  I  am  Margaret  Morris — I'm  looking 
for  my  grandfather,  Mr.  Morris,"  explained 
Margery,  in  her  distress  more  affable  than 


ANOTHER  RELATIVE          21 

she  would  ordinarily  have  deigned  to  be.  "  I 
wonder  if  you  happen  to  know  him  and  to 
have  seen  him  about  the  station.  I  thought 
surely  that  he  would  come  to  meet  me." 

Dick  finished  scrambling  for  the  candy  and 
stood  up,  looking  rather  red  and  embarrassed. 
Just  like  a  girl  to  have  things  that  would 
spill  all  over  creation  I 

"  Yes,"  he  said  briefly  ;  "  he's  away." 

"  Away  ?  "  Margery's  knees  wobbled  and 
she  felt  queer  and  breathless.  "  Away?  "  she 
repeated. 

"  We  got  your  telegram  all  right,  though, 
and  I've  come  to  meet  you." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  He'll  be  back  soon 
— and  there's  Deborah,  the  housekeeper,  you 
know,  to  make  you  comfortable.  Have  you 
got  your  trunk  checks  ?  Thanks.  Here, 
George — send  these  out  to  the  farm,  won't 
you  ?  The  carriage  is  waiting  out  in  front  of 
the  station,"  he  finished  in  a  businesslike 
manner,  turning  to  Margery.  "  Come  on." 


CHAPTER  II 

DICK    EXPLAINS 

TIRED  and  dazed,  Margery  stumbled  along 
the  platform  after  Dick  to  the  front  of  the 
station. 

"There's  Benjamin,"  and  Dick  nodded 
toward  a  runabout  in  which  sat  a  handsome 
little  boy  about  seven  years  old.  "  Climb  in 
while  I  unhitch, — the  horse  doesn't  stand  very 
well." 

As  he  caught  sight  of  them,  the  little  lad 
stood  up  and  grabbed  his  cap  from  his  curly 
head.  "  I'm  awful  glad  you've  come,"  he 
cried  gleefully,  holding  out  his  hand,  "just 
awful  glad  !  An'  please  'scuse  my  hand  being 
dirty,"  he  added  with  equal  cheerfulness, 
"  'cause  I  forgot  to  wash  it." 

It  was  quite  evident  that  he  had  forgotten 
to  wash  it,  and  disregarding  the  proffered 
hand,  Margery  climbed  into  the  runabout. 
Dick  unhitched  the  horse  and  jumped  in 

22 


DICK  EXPLAINS  23 

beside  her,  while  Benjamin  settled  down  at 
their  feet. 

A  rapid  drive  through  a  wide,  pleasant 
street  bordered  with  quaint  red-brick  houses, 
a  sedate  amble  across  an  old  covered  bridge, 
where  a  sign  urged  them  to  "  keep  to  the 
right,  as  the  law  directs,"  and  they  were  out 
in  the  country,  a  gentle  country  of  broad 
meadows  and  white  roads  lined  with  willows, 
silvery  now  in  the  twilight. 

Its  soft  melancholy  beauty  was  lost  on 
Margery,  who  sat  staring  straight  ahead  at 
the  horse's  ears,  absorbed  in  disappointment 
at  her  grandfather's  absence.  She  felt  indig- 
nant, too.  She  was  used  to  being  treated  as  a 
person  of  importance  ;  and  now  to  be  received 
in  this  haphazard  fashion.  Grandpapa  had 
no  right  to  be  away  I 

"  Rather  unexpected,  your  coming,  wasn't 
it?  "  Dick's  voice  broke  in  upon  her  revery. 

"  Rather." 

Who  were  these  boys  who  had  come  to 
meet  her?  Margery  turned  to  Dick.  "You're 
the  stable-boy,  I  suppose?"  she  remarked 
tentatively. 

"  Stable-boy  nothing  I     I'm  Dick." 


24  MARGERT  MORRIS 

"Dick?" 

"  Yes,  your  Cousin  Dick." 

"  Cousin  f  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  Richard  Ball." 

"  But  I  never  heard  of  you  !  How  can  you 
be  my  cousin  ?  " 

"  But  you've  heard  of  me  ? "  Benjamin 
was  evidently  quite  certain  that  nobody  could 
possibly  have  lived  to  be  Margery's  age  with- 
out having  heard  of  so  important  a  person  as 
Benjamin.  "  My  name  is  Benjamin  Carson 
Ball." 

"  No.     I  never  heard  of  either  of  you." 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  put  in  Dick,  quietly. 
"  Mother  and  your  father  weren't  on  very 
good  terms  before  she  died — seven  years  ago." 
The  little  note  of  sadness  that  always  came  at 
the  mention  of  his  mother  crept  into  Dick's 
voice. 

Her  cousins  I  "  Mother  and  your  father 
weren't  on  very  good  terms."  What  did  it 
all  mean?  Margery  put  out  her  hand  and 
clutched  at  the  reins  as  though  to  seize  upon 
reason  itself. 

"Hello!  What  did  you  do  that  for?" 
'asked  Dick,  astonished.  "First  thing  you 


DICK  EXPLAINS  25 

know,  we'll  have  a  runaway,"  he  added  as 
politely,  but  firmly,  he  loosened  her  hand. 

Margery  gazed  at  him  uncomprehendingly, 
her  mind  engulfed  by  this  bewildering  new 
thought :  her  cousins?  Dick  Ball?  Benjamin 
Ball?  Had  she  ever  heard  of  them?  Surely 
not  I  She  racked  her  brain  ;  frowning  at  the 
unoffending  dash-board,  she  admitted  to  her- 
self that  she  had  paid  wonderfully  little 
attention  to  what  her  father  had  to  say  of 
friends  and  relatives  in  the  East.  But  surely 
she  would  have  remembered  something  about 
her  cousins.  Oh,  yes,  she  remembered  now. 
Aunt  Margaret  had  died  when  Margery  was 
very  young,  and  Mamma  had  worn  black  for 
a  while,  and  little  Margery  had  cried  for  her 
to  take  it  off;  Aunt  Margaret  must  have  been 
the  boys'  mother.  Had  she  ever  heard  of  Aunt 
Margaret's  boys,-^-she  could  not  remember. 

"  Do  you  live  in  Renwyck's  Town  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,— with  Grandfather." 

"You  do?" 

"  Yes,  ever  since  Father  died." 

"But  Grandpapa  never  talks  about  you  in 
his  letters ! " 


26  MARGERT  MORRIS 

Dick  tightened  the  reins.  "  Your  father 
doesn't  seem  to  approve  of  our  being  here,"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "  At  least  he  doesn't  ap- 
prove of  my  being  here.  I  suppose  he  thinks 
that  I  ought  to  go  to  work.  I  am  going  to 
work,"  he  added  proudly,  "just  as  soon  as 
I'm  through  school." 

"  Our  fathers  didn't  like  each  other  a  bit," 
piped  up  Benjamin  from  his  place  at  her  feet. 
"  But  I  don't  think  that  we  ought  to  'scuss 
the  matter." 

"  I'm  sure  that  Papa  was  right,  anyway," 
was  Margery's  ungracious  response  to  the 
friendly  little  fellow's  speech.  She  had  really 
no  conviction  that  her  father  was  right ;  in 
fact,  after  the  ruthless  way  in  which  he  had 
torn  her  from  the  arms  of  her  beloved  Marie 
Smythe,  she  was  prepared  to  think  him 
wrong  in  everything.  The  spirit  of  perverse- 
ness  had  entered  into  her  soul,  and  she  told 
herself  that  she  was  not  going  to  give  in  to 
anybody ;  least  of  all,  to  this  queer,  big  country- 
boy. 

There  was  much  that  was  winning  about 
Dick's  clear,  steady  blue  eyes,  and  the  clean 
cut  of  his  resolute  chin ;  in  a  less  querulous 


DICK  EXPLAINS  27 

mood,  Margery  might  have  admitted  that  he 
was  a  handsome,  manly  cousin  to  be  proud  of ; 
but  as  it  was,  stealing  a  look  at  him  from  the 
corner  of  her  eye,  she  merely  noted  that  his 
sweater  was  a  particularly  ugly  affair.  "  Com- 
mon-looking, like  a  butcher  boy's,"  she  told 
herself,  shudderingly.  The  broad  shoulders 
which  Dick's  mates — and  Dick  himself,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told — found  so  admirable,  she 
despised  as  taking  up  more  than  their  share 
of  room  in  the  narrow  runabout. 

"  Rather  unexpected,  your  coming,  wasn't 
it  ?  "  asked  Dick,  harking  back  to  the  begin- 
ning of  their  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Margery,  more  communi- 
cative this  time.  "  I  didn't  expect  to  come  un- 
til January.  Papa  and  Mamma  have  gone  to 
Japan  on  business,  you  know.  They  wouldn't 
take  me,  because  they  didn't  want  me  to  miss 
so  much  school.  I  had  to  drop  out  of  school 
most  of  last  winter, — I  outgrew  my  strength, 
the  doctor  said.  I  mightn't  have  minded  it 
so  much  if  I  could  have  waited  until  after 
Christmas, — but  Papa  found  that  he  had  to  go 
earlier, — they  sailed  yesterday.  I  came  East 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van  Pelt, — unfortunately 


28  MARGERT  MORRIS 

they  happened  to  be  coming,  so  there  was  no 
escape  for  poor  Margery." 

Dick  switched  off  the  top  of  a  roadside  weed 
with  his  whip.  "  Hmmm,"  he  said  thought- 
fully, "  did  you  write  to  Grandfather  ?  " 

"  Papa  did." 

"  Well,  I  guess  it's  all  right.  I  forwarded 
a  lot  of  mail  to  Grandfather  yesterday, — I  was 
in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  notice  particularly 
where  the  letters  were  from." 

"  Of  course,  it's  all  right."  Margery's  tone 
was  rather  sharp.  "  But  it's  awful  having 
Grandpapa  away.  Where  is  he?" 

"  Canada, — Northwestern  Territory.  He's 
looking  after  some  farms  he  has  bought  up 
there  for  an  investment.  He  thinks  that 
there  is  a  mighty  big  future  in  Canada,  and 
that  eventually  ..." 

"  It  was  bad  enough,  anyway,"  interrupted 
Margery,  not  at  all  interested  in  the  future  of 
Canada,  and  very  much  interested  in  the  pres- 
ent— and  Margery,  "  to  have  to  come  here, 
without  having  Grandpapa  away.  I  don't 
think  that  he  ought  to  have  gone, — though  I 
suppose  that  he  didn't  know  I  was  coming  so 
soon,"  she  added  justly. 


DICK  EXPLAINS  29 

Benjamin  twisted  around,  planting  his  knee 
firmly  on  Margery's  instep.  "  Why,  Cousin 
Margaret,  you  sound  as  though  you  didn't 
want  to  come, — didn't  you  ?  "  he  asked,  aston- 
ished. "  Why,  Renwyck's  Town  is  just  a  per- 
feckly  lovely  place  !  " 

"  Ouch  I  You're  on  my  foot.  No,  I  didn't 
want  to  come,  one  little  bit.  I  had  a  simply 
perfect  invitation  to  spend  the  whole  winter 
with  my  best  friend,  Marie  Smythe.  Her 
mother  asked  me  to  stay  with  them  while 
Papa  and  Mamma  are  away.  Marie  and  I 
would  have  gone  to  school,  and  dancing-class, 
and  our  riding-lessons,  and  everything,  to- 
gether. Marie  has  two  older  sisters ;  one  of 
them  was  a  debutante  last  year,  and  the  other 
is  coming  out  this  year.  They  have  awfully 
gay  times,  and  it  would  have  been  such  fun 
to  see  it  all.  Marie  gets  up  and  sneaks  down- 
stairs to  watch  what's  going  on  whenever  they 
have  people  there, — often  she  doesn't  get  to 
bed  before  twelve  and  half-past.  Mamma 
always  makes  me  go  to  bed  at  half-past  eight, 
— think  of  it,  half-past  eight !  And  Marie  en- 
tertains just  lots  herself, — but  Papa  wouldn't 
let  me  accept  the  invitation,  and  insisted  that 


30  MARGERT  MORRIS 

I  spend  the  winter  with  Grandpapa, — so  here 
I  am ! " 

"  Perhaps  you  can  persuade  your  father  to 
let  you  go  back  there  yet,"  suggested  Dick, 
with  a  sudden  spasm  of  animation. 

Margery  was  not  too  self-absorbed  to  miss 
the  strong  note  of  hope  in  Dick's  voice ;  and 
she  resented  it.  But  he  had  suggested  a  de- 
lightful idea ;  perhaps  she  could  persuade  her 
father  to  let  her  spend  the  winter  with  Marie, 
after  all  I  Meanwhile,  she  wished  that  the 
horrid  little  boy  wouldn't  sit  on  her  feet ;  she 
wished  that  the  big  boy  wasn't  so  "  queer," 
and  that  he  didn't  take  up  so  much  room. 
Anybody  ought  to  be  able  to  drive  a  quiet  old 
horse  like  that  without  ramming  his  elbow 
into  people's  ribs!  She  wished  that  the  road 
didn't  lead  through  such  a  dark  and  dreary 
stretch  of  pine  woods.  She  leaned  back,  and 
composed  herself  for  a  thorough  fit  of  ill- 
humor. 

Margery  was  rather  proud  of  her  ability  in 
that  respect.  Marie  Smythe  often  declared 
that  such  extreme  sensitiveness  to  the  bumps 
of  life  denoted  unusual  refinement  and  tem- 
perament. Margery's  father,  with  parental 


DICK  EXPLAINS  31 

frankness,  had  a  way,  however,  of  referring  to 
this  sensibility  as  "grouchiness " ;  Margery, 
although  she  admitted  that  her  father  had 
many  good  qualities,  and  of  late  an  astonish- 
ing capacity  for  making  money,  felt  that  at 
times  he  verged  on  vulgarity. 

Dick  and  Benjamin  were  silent ;  as  the 
carriage  jogged  along,  Margery's  tired  eyes 
closed,  and  her  tired  head  under  the  smart 
hat  nodded  wearily. 

"  There's  the  house  !  "  cried  Benjamin,  sud- 
denly, and  very  wide  awake  at  once,  Margery 
straightened  up  and  looked  about  her. 


CHAPTER  III 

AT   THE   FARM 

THEY  turned  in  between  two  whitewashed 
gate-posts ;  through  the  dusk  Margery  could 
discern  a  fine  old  brick  mansion  with  a  high 
white  portico,  standing  at  the  end  of  a  drive- 
way lined  with  pine  trees.  Lamplight  gleamed 
through  the  lower  windows  and  the  wide 
front  door,  left  hospitably  open,  out  across  a 
strip  of  lawn  and  big  beds  of  scarlet  sage,  still 
untouched  by  frost.  It  was  plainly  the  setting 
for  easy,  comfortable,  old-fashioned  living,  far 
removed  from  the  rush  and  turmoil  of  modern 
life. 

As  Margery  stepped  from  the  carriage,  a 
little  woman  with  a  sweet,  patient  old  face 
came  hurrying  out  of  the  house. 

"  So  this  is  Miss  Margaret  Morris,"  she  re- 
marked in  a  quaint,  prim  little  manner,  her 
head  tipped  to  one  side  like  a  bird's. 

"  Yes,"  Margery  returned  limply. 

"  Mr.  Morris  is  away  on  business,  but  the 
32 


AT  THE  FARM  33 

boys  and  I  are  glad  to  make  you  welcome.  I 
am  Deborah  Davis,  the  housekeeper,  you 
know.  I'll  take  you  to  your  room  right  off; 
then  supper  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes. 
I  guess  you're  real  hungry." 

Margery  vouchsafed  no  answer,  and  the 
housekeeper,  after  a  quick,  somewhat  sur- 
prised glance  at  her,  silently  led  the  way  up 
the  steep,  old-fashioned  flight  of  stairs,  across 
a  wide  hall,  and  along  a  narrow,  dark  passage- 
way to  a  door  at  the  end,  which  she  swung 
open.  Margery  was  pleasantly  conscious  of  a 
clean,  fresh  smell  as  of  linen  and  blankets 
that  had  been  folded  away  in  lavender,  but 
beyond  a  huge,  white-canopied  bed,  her  eyes 
could  make  out  but  little  in  the  dim  room. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "until  I  light 
the  lamp.  I  didn't  light  it  before,  for  fear  it 
might  go  up  and  smoke  the  walls." 

The  lighted  lamp  disclosed  to  view  a  hand- 
some, stiff  room  filled  with  the  heavy  ma- 
hogany furniture  of  the  late  forties.  The  bed 
belonged  to  an  earlier  period,  and  reared  its 
tall,  carved  posts  and  white  dimity  canopy 
toward  the  ceiling  with  an  air  of  conscious 
elegance.  Margery  looked  at  it  with  critical 


34  MARGERT  MORRIS 

but  approving  eyes ;  she  knew  the  value  of 
such  antique  furniture. 

She  pitched  her  hat  onto  the  bed  and  began 
to  take  off  her  jacket,  then  paused  uncertainly. 
"  The  heat  must  be  turned  off,"  she  shivered, 
"  it's  very  chilly  in  here.  Will  you  turn  it 
on,  please,  Deborah — you  said  your  name  was 
Deborah,  didn't  you  ?  " 

Deborah  lowered  a  window  shade  until  it 
was  on  the  exact  level  of  its  fellow.  "  Yes, 
Deborah  Davis,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "  I'm 
afraid  it  is  chilly  here — you  see,  the  furnace 
doesn't  heat  this  part  of  the  house.  I'll  try 
to  have  the  stove  put  up  some  time  next  week. 
If  we  had  only  known  that  you  were  coming 
we  should  have  had  things  ready  for  you. 
But  we  will  make  you  as  comfortable  as  we 
can.  I'll  have  to  go  down  now.  There's 
fresh  water  in  the  pitcher  on  the  wash-stand, 
and  clean  towels.  Supper  will  be  ready  in  a 
minute,  so  perhaps  you  had  better  get  ready." 

Left  alone,  Margery  plumped  down  tragic- 
ally on  the  side  of  the  bed,  ruthlessly  rum- 
pling the  heavy  Marseilles  counterpane.  No 
heat !  Why,  she  would  die  I  Of  course  she 
vrould !  Surely  her  grandfather  wouldn't 


AT  THE  FARM  35 

have  allowed  her  to  be  put  in  a  barn  of  a 
room  like  this  if  he  had  been  home.  Well, 
if  she  took  pneumonia  and  died,  Papa  and 
Mamma  would  be  sorry  then  1  They  would 
wish,  after  she  was  dead,  that  they  had  been 
a  little  more  anxious  to  please  her.  And 
what  would  Marie  Smythe  say  if  she  could 
see  her  now,  and  see  those  dreadful  new 
cousins  of  hers?  At  the  thought  of  Marie's 
critical  brown  eyes  surveying  Dick's  sweater 
Margery  almost  groaned. 

"  Supper,  Cousin  Margaret,'*  called  a  voice, 
which  Margery  recognized  as  Benjamin's. 

Hastily  slapping  at  her  curls  with  a  hair- 
brush and  polishing  off  the  middle  of  her  face 
with  the  wet  end  of  a  towel,  Margery  hurried 
down-stairs,  finding  her  way  with  difficulty. 
At  the  back  of  the  wide  lower  hall  two  steps 
led  down  to  the  dining-room  where  Deborah 
and  the  boys  were  waiting  for  her. 

The  country  supper,  with  its  platters  of 
fried  chicken  and  sweet  potatoes,  its  tall 
pitchers  of  fresh  milk,  and  the  molds  of 
delicate  pink  crab-apple  jelly,  was  really 
wonderfully  good.  But  Margery,  while  she 
ate  hungrily  of  it,  could  not  help  feeling  how 


36  MARGERT  MORRIS 

shocked  Marie  Smythe  would  be  at  the 
informal,  not  to  say  haphazard,  way  in  which 
everything  was  served. 

The  boys,  too,  Margery  felt,  would  have 
earned  Marie's  disgust.  Benjamin  apparently 
considered,  when  he  had  apologized  at  the 
station  for  his  dirty  hands,  that  he  had  done 
everything  for  them  that  was  needful,  and 
they  still  were  of  a  griminess  wonderful  to 
see.  Dick  had  had  a  violent,  although 
friendly,  tussle  with  another  boy  earlier  in 
the  day,  and  his  collar  bore  evidence  to  the 
fact.  He  ate  a  good  deal,  very  rapidly,  and 
said  little,  plainly  rather  bored  at  the  advent 
of  another  visitor,  and  one  who  added  insult 
to  injury  by  being  a  girl,  and  a  rather  un- 
gracious girl,  at  that.  Deborah  made  an  ef- 
fort to  talk,  and  asked  Margery  a  few  ques- 
tions about  her  journey,  but  Margery,  feeling 
that  the  elegant  Marie  would  consider  it  the 
acme  of  bad  taste  to  dine  with  "  a  servant," 
answered  her  with  a  distance  designed  not 
only  to  "  put  her  in  her  place,"  but  to  keep 
her  there  permanently. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  white-haired  old 
negro  came  in  with  a  fresh  platter  of  chicken. 


AT  THE  FARM  37 

"  Des  try  a  little  moh  of  dis  yere  yard-bihd," 
he  urged,  standing  beside  Margery's  chair. 
"  Ah  is  Thomas, — ah  rar'ly  waits  on  de  table, 
but  de  young  lady  strangahs  widin  de  gates 
gits  mah  best  scanctification." 

"  That  will  do,  Thomas,"  said  the  house- 
keeper, hastily. 

Margery's  spirits  revived  a  little  at  Thomas's 
entrance.  After  all,  it  was  like  the  books  to 
have  "  an  old  family  retainer " ;  life  at  her 
grandfather's  might  prove  to  be  rather 
romantic,  even  if  it  was  pokey  and  uncom- 
fortable, infested  by  boy-cousins,  and  talkative 
housekeepers.  She  would  write  to  Marie 
about  Thomas. 

Benjamin,  who  had  been  staring  at  Margery 
as  though  she  were  an  ichthyosaurus,  or  some 
other  prehistoric  animal  newly  returned  to 
earth,  suddenly  broke  the  silence  with  : 

"  There  must  be  lots  of  Indians,  and  bears, 
and  wolves  around  your  ranch." 

"  Oh,  mercy  no.  California  is  perfectly 
civilized, — as  much  so  as  it  is  here.  Besides, 
we  don't  go  out  to  the  ranch  very  often." 

"  California  ?  "  queried  Dick.  "  I  thought 
that  you  lived  in  Texas." 


38  MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  No,  indeed.     California." 

"  Isn't  that  funny, — I  was  sure  it  was  Texas. 
Always  get  them  mixed,  anyway,"  and  Dick 
thoughtfully  rolled  the  remains  of  his  bread 
into  neat  little  pills.  "  Whom  do  you  look 
like  ?  "  he  exploded  suddenly. 

"  My  hair  is  like  Mamma's,  but  my  eyes 
and  features  are  like  Papa's." 

"  Do  they  still  call  you  Bunnie  ?  " 

"  They  never  called  me  Bunnie.  They 
call  me  Margery.  When  I  was  little  I  used 
to  insist  that  my  name  was  '  Dear,'  and  I 
wouldn't  answer  to  anything  else.  Perhaps 
you  were  thinking  of  that." 

"  Humph,"  said  Dick,  as  he  filliped  one  of 
the  bread  pills  at  Benjamin,  in  spite  of 
Deborah's  warning  head-shake. 

After  supper  Benjamin  challenged  Margery 
to  a  game  of  checkers,  and  Dick  got  out  a 
bottle  of  ink  to  begin  a  letter.  If  one 
could  judge  from  the  contortions  with  which, 
in  the  agony  of  composition,  he  wrapped 
his  long  legs  around  the  rungs  of  his  chair, 
letter  writing  was  not  a  favorite  art  with 
Dick. 

"  Whom  are  you  writing  to,  Dick  ?  "  Ben- 


AT  THE  FARM  39 

jamin  asked  as  he  captured  two  of  Margery's 


men." 


"  Grandfather." 

11  Give  him  my  love,"  put  in  Margery,  with 
a  brave  attempt  at  airiness.  She  was  feeling 
anything  but  debonair ;  the  tears  had  come 
very  near  the  surface,  and  her  efforts  at 
checker-playing  grew  more  and  more  careless 
and  erratic. 

Her  kindly  little  opponent,  seeing  her 
distress,  forbore  to  capture  her  unguarded 
"  king,"  and  leaning  across  the  table,  said 
softly,  "  I  think  I'm  going  to  love  you  awful 
much,  Cousin  Margaret, — you're  so  pretty. 
I  never  had  anybody  so  pretty  to  love  before. 
Deborah's  awful  nice,  but  she's  old,  and  not 
nearly  so  pretty." 

Benjamin's  tact  almost  unnerved  Margery, 
and  the  stately  young  lady  suddenly  became 
a  tired,  homesick  little  girl.  With  trembling 
lips  she  announced  that  she  would  like  to  go 
to  bed. 

"  Wait  a  minute,— I'll  call  Deborah,"  Dick 
said  kindly,  and  took  down  a  small  lamp  from 
the  high  mantel-shelf. 

11  Your  room  is  rather  apart  from  the  others," 


40  MARGERT  MORRIS 

the  housekeeper  observed,  as  lamp  in  hand 
she  led  the  way  up  the  stairs  and  down  the 
narrow  eerie  passageway,  "  but  you're  perfectly 
safe  here,  and  I'm  within  call  if  you  want 
anything."  She  set  the  little  lamp  down  on 
the  bureau  from  which  it  timidly  lighted  up 
a  small  corner  of  the  big,  dark  room.  "  You're 
not  nervous,  are  you  ?  " 

"  N-no,"  shivered  Margery,  "  but  I'm  cold." 

"  It  is  chilly  here — you'd  better  hurry  and 
undress  as  fast  as  you  can.  You'll  be  warm 
as  soon  as  you  are  in  bed.  I  put  the  winter 
blankets  on,  and  that  down  quilt  is  fine 
and  warm."  Deborah  did  not  add  that  she 
had  taken  it  off  her  own  bed,  in  order 
that  the  little  stranger's  comfort  might  be  en- 
sured. 

Margery  sat  down  in  a  big  rush-bottomed 
rocker,  and  kicked  off  her  tan  oxfords.  Deb- 
orah stood  waiting  uncertainly,  but  as  Mar- 
gery said  nothing  and  was  evidently  anxious 
to  be  alone,  she  quietly  turned  down  the 
bedclothes,  and  spread  the  quilt  over  the  foot 
of  the  bed. 

"  Now  !  If  there  isn't  anything  more  I  can 
do  for  you,  I  think  that  I'll  go  down-stairs. 


AT  THE  FARM  41 

Be  sure  to  raise  the  south  window — the  other 
one  opens  onto  the  porch  roof.  I'll  call  you 
in  the  morning.  Good-night." 

She  went  out,  closing  the  door  after  her, 
and  with  a  sob  that  began  at  her  toes  and 
went  all  the  way  up  to  her  throat,  where  it 
clutched  her  tight,  Margery  began  hurriedly 
to  undress.  She  undid  her  clothes,  pulling 
off  a  vital  button  or  two  in  her  haste,  and 
walked  out  of  them,  leaving  them  in  a  little 
heap  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  As  she  tied 
the  pink  ribbon  on  her  nightgown,  the  fare- 
well promise  that  she  had  made  to  her  mother 
to  be  "  very,  very  neat "  occurred  to  her.  A 
promise  was  a  promise  to  Margery,  a  thing  to 
be  kept  sacredly,  however  great  the  incon- 
venience or  cost.  With  all  her  absurdities 
and  faults  Margery  had  that  rigid  sense  of 
honor,  which,  alas,  we  associate  more  with 
boys  than  with  girls.  Shivering,  and  sobbing 
bitterly,  she  pulled  her  frock  from  the  heap 
of  huddled  garments,  and  stumbled  toward 
the  cupboard  to  hang  it  up. 

The  closet  door  stuck,  and  she  had  to  brace 
her  knee  against  the  door-jamb  before  she 
could  wrench  it  open.  As  with  a  final  tug 


42  MARGERT  MORRIS 

the  heavy  door  swung  open  on  its  protesting 
hinges,  there  was  a  rustle  in  the  depths  of  the 
great  closet  and  something  moved. 

With  a  scream,  Margery  slammed  the  door 
to,  and  sank  back.  Crouching  against  the 
bed,  her  eyes  wide  with  horror,  she  stared 
motionless  at  the  door.  Who  was  in  that  cup- 
board ?  What  could  she  do  ?  If  she  shrieked 
for  help  the  others  down-stairs  could  not  hear 
her.  And  soon  the  door  would  open  slowly, 
slowly,  and  the  something  that  was  back  of  it 
would  get  her  by  the  throat  and  .  .  .  She 
shuddered  and  hid  her  face  in  her  shaking 
hands. 

But  Margery  was  not  a  coward ;  after  the 
first  recoil  of  horror,  she  pulled  herself  to- 
gether and  bravely  considered  the  situation. 

Well,  she  decided,  she  would  not  submit  to 
being  coldly  murdered,  no  matter  how  much 
it  might  please  them !  If  there  was  a  mur- 
derer in  the  room  she  would  fight  him  while 
there  was  a  last  gasp  of  breath  left  in  her 
body.  Stealthily,  she  rose  to  her  feet.  A 
glance  toward  the  hall  door ;  it  was  bolted 
with  a  heavy,  old-fashioned  bolt  that  had 
creaked  and  groaned  when  she  had  fastened 


AT  THE  FARM  43 

it  after  Deborah — still  she  might  be  able  to 
.  .  .  The  lamp  ! — she  would  fling  it  at  the 
murderer  if  he  tried  to  grab  her  as  she  un- 
bolted the  door,  and  then,  shrieking,  she 
would  dash  along  the  passage  to  the  stairs. 
She  stole  across  the  room  to  the  little  lamp, 
her  bare  feet  making  no  sound. 

Something  stirred  again  within  the  closet, 
and  she  paused,  the  lamp  held  high.  Then 
from  within  the  cupboard's  depths  came  a 
faint,  but  unmistakable  : 

"  Me-o-uw." 

Putting  down  the  lamp,  she  sprang  across 
the  room  and  opened  the  closet  door  again. 
"  Scat  I  "  she  cried,  and  a  whirlwind  of  yellow 
fur  streaked  under  the  bed. 

Half-laughing,  half-sobbing,  she  opened  the 
hall  door,  and  with  the  aid  of  her  umbrella, 
persuaded  the  big  old  tortoise-shell  cat  skulk- 
ing under  the  bed  to  depart. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  sighed,  "  I'd  think  it  was 
funny  if  I  were  home.  I  wonder  how  long 
that  poor  cat's  been  shut  up  there.  Oh,  dear, 
it  is  funny  1 " 

With  a  feeble  giggle  she  blew  out  the  light 
and  bounded  into  the  middle  of  the  great  cav- 


44  MARGERT  MORRIS 

ernous  bed,  pulling  the  bedclothes  up  over  her 
head.  But  her  fright  had  made  her  nervous, 
and  she  could  not  get  to  sleep ;  nor  could  she 
indulge  in  the  glorious  fit  of  crying  which  she 
had  been  promising  to  herself  all  the  evening. 
Wide-eyed  and  wide-awake,  she  thought  of  all 
the  dreadful  stories  that  she  had  ever  heard 
of  people  being  walled  up  alive  in  dun- 
geons ;  of  the  Man  With  the  Iron  Mask, 
of  Marie  Antoinette,  whose  hair  turned  white 
in  a  single  night.  If  she  lived  until  morn- 
ing she  knew  that  her  hair  would  be  snow 
white. 

She  stuck  her  nose  out  from  under  the  bed- 
clothes for  air,  and  rolled  over  on  her  side,  im- 
patiently reviewing  a  conversation  that  she 
had  overheard  a  few  nights  before  she  left 
home.  Her  father  and  mother  had  been  talk- 
ing in  the  room  next  to  hers ;  Margery,  too 
sleepy  and  too  indifferent  to  remind  them  of 
her  presence,  had  perforce  heard  something  of 
their  colloquy. 

"  You  may  give  a  child  everything,"  Mar- 
gery had  heard  her  mother  declare.  "  Money, 
and  position,  and  education,  all  the  material 
things — but  you  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  give 


AT  THE  FARM  45 

it  the  things  of  the  soul — however  hard  you 
try.  That's  the  heartrending  part." 

"  Oh,  come,  my  dear,  cheer  up.  Margery 
isn't  so  bad."  Margery  had  grown  rather 
more  awake  at  this.  "  Papa,"  she  had  called. 
"  I'm  awake  in  here ; "  but  her  father  had 
gone  on  talking. 

"  It's  partly  our  own  fault.  We've  sent  her 
to  a  regular  sausage  machine  of  a  school :  put 
in  a  live  child  at  one  end  ;  bring  out  a  dead 
snob  at  the  other.  And  then  we  have  allowed 
her  to  select  as  her  chosen  friend  that  ridicu- 
lous Marie  Smythe.  Marie  Smythe,  what  a 
name !  I  can  see,  though,  why  she  has  a  fas- 
cination for  Margery — she's  so  much  more 
worldly  wise,  so  old  for  her  years.  I  can  re- 
member my  own  admiration  for  the  bad  little 
boy  who  taught  me  to  smoke  corn-silk  ciga- 
rettes !  Margery  has  a  fine  nature  underneath 
her  nonsense ;  she  was  a  dear,  lovable  little 
thing — and  she  is  honorable  and  truthful  to  a 
degree  now,  and  she's  not  a  coward.  You've 
planted  the  seeds  of  character  well,  and  the 
flowers  are  there,  j  ust  the  same,  though  now  they 
are  growing  under  the  snow.  But  some  day 
the  snow  will  melt.  Remember  the  old  lines  :  % 


46  M4RGERT  MORRIS 

lt  l  You  can  glad  your  child,  or  grieve  it, 
You  can  trust  it  or  deceive  it, 
When  all's  done, 
Beneath  God's  sun, 
You  can  only  love  and  leave  it.'" 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Morris  had  said  wistfully, 
"  perhaps,  as  you  say,  some  turn  of  fate,  some 
piece  of  hardness  endured,  will  give  her  the 
thing  I  desire  for  her  more  than  any  riches, 
any  talent :  a  happy,  brave  and  valiant  heart. 
This  separation  this  winter  almost  breaks  my 
heart — I — I  feel  that  I  couldn't  endure  it  if  it 
were  not  for  the  hope  that  perhaps  the  simpler 
life,  the  being  away  from  us,  may  help  her. 
Yes,  Margery  dear,  what  is  it?  You  want  the 
door  closed?  You're  trying  to  get  to  sleep? 
Very  well,  dear." 

"  Well,"  thought  Margery,  as  she  finished 
reviewing  the  conversation,  "  I'm  sure  if  they 
could  see  me  now  they  ought  to  be  satisfied  I 
I'm  sure  I'm  enduring  hardness  enough  ;  get- 
ting all  scared  up  with  cats — and  having  no 
fire  in  my  room — and  having  a  horrid  little 
boy  sit  on  my  feet — and — and — being  neg- 
lected by — my  grandfather,  and  .  .  ." 

And  Margery  dropped  off  to  sleep  at  last,  her 
heart  by  no  means  happy,  valiant,  or  kindly. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DEBORAH 

"  GOOD-MORNING  ;  how  did  you  sleep  ?  "  asked 
Deborah  as  Margery  came  down-stairs  to  break- 
fast at  half-past  eleven  the  next  morning. 
"  We  have  breakfast  at  seven,  usually — but  I 
didn't  call  you,  for  I  knew  that  you  must  be 
tired  after  your  long  journey — and  it's  always 
hard  to  get  to  sleep  and  a  good  night's  rest 
in  a  strange  bed." 

Margery  groaned  inwardly  at  the  thought 
of  a  whole  winter  of  early  breakfasts  stretch- 
ing endlessly  before  her,  but  she  accepted  a 
bowl  of  bread  and  milk  without  comment  and 
curled  up  in  a  big  rocking-chair  to  take  it 
slowly.  The  little  housekeeper  went  on  busily 
with  her  darning  ;  now  and  then  she  glanced 
up  as  though  she  would  like  to  talk,  but 
Margery  resolved  not  to  encourage  her,  and 
ate  away  at  her  bread  and  milk  in  an  impress- 
ive and  dignified  silence.  Alas  for  Margery's 
dignity, — with  the  final  spoonful  she  curled 

47 


48  MARGERY  MORRIS 

her  feet  up  under  her  and  settled  back  in  the 
roomy  old  chair ;  too  far  back,  for  the  chair 
tipped  suddenly  on  its  old-fashioned  short 
rockers ;  Margery's  feet  flew  out  in  a  frantic 
effort  to  reach  the  floor,  as  with  a  startled 
squawk  she  grasped  at  the  air. 

Deborah  reached  out  her  hand,  and  placed 
it  steadyingly  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 
"  You  won't  go  over,"  she  laughed.  "  That 
chair's  terrible  tricky,  but  it  never  goes  all 
the  way  over.  It's  the  short  rockers ;  all 
the  old  rocking-chairs  were  made  that  way. 
They  all  have  such  short  rockers  that  they 
don't  balance  properly.  I've  had  a  good 
many  laughs  out  of  that  chair.  When  I 
first  came  here,  the  Baptist  minister's  wife 
came  to  call.  She's  one  of  these  formal 
women  who  would  put  on  a  bonnet  and 
gloves  to  go  out  and  call  home  the  cows. 
It  was  a  real  chilly  day  when  she  came 
here ;  one  of  those  spring  days  that  go  right 
through  you.  As  I  had  a  fire  in  the  grate 
here,  we  sat  in  this  room,  though  I  could 
see  she  didn't  approve  of  sitting  in  the 
dining-room  for  a  first  call.  To  make  mat- 
ters worse,  she  sat  in  that  chair.  The  first 


DEBORAH  49 

thing  I  knew,  she  was  shrieking,  her  feet 
were  sticking  straight  out,  her  arms  were 
waving  round,  and  she  was  thinking  that 
she  was  going  over,  sure !  She  was  so  an- 
noyed and  disgusted  at  me  and  the  chair 
that  I  had  an  awful  time  to  make  peace  ; 
it  took  a  lot  of  rubbing  camphor  on  her 
forehead,  and  fanning,  and  fruit  cake,  to 
bring  her  round." 

Margery  laughed  in  spite  of  herself  as  she 
climbed  out  of  the  treacherous  chair,  and  put 
down  the  empty  bowl  on  the  table. 

"  If  you  are  through  now,"  said  Deborah, 
"  you  can  go  up-stairs  and  make  your  bed — 
you  needn't  turn  the  feather-bed  to-day." 

With  an  air  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  the  most  chastened  and  resigned  of  early 
Christian  martyrs,  Margery  left  the  room. 
Seven  o'clock  breakfasts  and  making  beds  ! — 
she  supposed  that  she  would  have  to  milk  the 
cows  next. 

As  she  went  along  the  hall,  she  passed  the 
library  door  ;  on  an  impulse  she  opened  it 
and  peeped  in.  The  cheerful  disorder  of  the 
evening  before  had  been  cleared  away,  and 
in  the  cold  morning  light  streaming  in 


50  MARGERY  MORRIS 

through  the  long  front  windows,  the  room 
looked  very  prim  and  substantial,  and  to 
Margery  dreary.  She  closed  the  library  door 
and  opened  the  one  directly  across  the  hall. 
This  room,  a  little  less  substantial  and  rather 
more  elegant,  was  evidently  the  parlor,  sa- 
credly best.  A  row  of  really  fine  old  ma- 
hogany chairs  was  ranged  solemnly  and 
stiffly  along  the  walls,  a  mahogany  table 
stood  squarely  in  the  center  of  the  room  ; 
but  the  thing  that  caught  and  held  Mar- 
gery's eyes  was  the  pictorial  wall-paper, 
portraying  the  evidently  unhappy  love  af- 
fairs of  some  medieval  lady,  which  had  been 
imported  from  France  about  the  time  that 
Europe  was  commencing  to  enjoy  a  well- 
earned  repose  after  the  activities  of  the  great 
Napoleon.  Depressed  by  the  stiff  grandeur 
and  cold  closeness  of  this  state  apartment, 
Margery  closed  the  door  and  started  up-stairs. 
"  Grandpapa's  house  is  exactly  what  I  ex- 
pected it  to  be,"  she  thought  drearily.  "  Stiff 
and  country  and  gloomy,  and  I  suppose  life 
here  will  be  just  to  match.  I  wonder  why," 
she  added  fretfully,  "  anybody  who  has  trav- 
eled so  much  should  have  so  few  things  that 


DEBORAH  51 

are  travelly  and  interesting  about — except 
for  those  snow-shoes  and  bows  and  arrows 
there  on  the  wall,  Grandpapa  might  never 
have  been  out  of  Renwyck's  Town." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh  of  exasperation  as 
she  thought  of  her  mother's  efforts  to  cast 
a  glamour  over  the  winter  she  was  to  spend 
in  Renwyck's  Town.  How  sure  she  had  been 
that  everything  would  be  gay  and  bright  and 
her  grandfather  the  most  delightful  of  com- 
rades, worth  a  dozen  Marie  Smythes.  What 
surprises  she  had  suggested  might  be  hidden 
away  for  her  there  in  Renwyck's  Town,  wait- 
ing her  coming.  "  Oh,"  said  Margery,  as  she 
reached  the  top  step,  "  of  course,  I  had  for- 
gotten about  the  surprises — they  must  be 
Dick  and  Benjamin  !  Of  course ! — wasn't  I 
dumb  not  to  think  of  that !  '  Dear  little  com- 
rades '  for  me  to  play  with  !  " 

Poor  Mamma  !  How  hard  she  did  work  to 
find  the  silver  lining  to  every  dark  cloud. 
What  enthusiastic  praise  she  had  wasted  over 
the  charms  of  taking  milk  and  eggs,  and  cod- 
liver  oil,  and  going  to  bed  early,  and  study- 
ing algebra,  and  all  the  other  things  in  life 
that  Margery  found  distasteful.  If  she  were 


52  MARGERT  MORRIS 

here,  what  pleasures  she  would  try  to  dis- 
cover, for  Margery,  in  seven  o'clock  break- 
fasts on  dark,  icy  mornings. 

"  Well,"  concluded  Margery,  "  I  might  just 
as  well  make  that  old  bed — a  little  bit  more 
horridness  won't  make  much  difference." 
Stripping  the  covers  off  the  bed,  she  began 
listlessly  to  remake  it.  Occasionally,  when 
she  was  rather  younger,  and  very  much  less 
dignified,  she  had  helped  the  chambermaid 
at  home  to  thump  the  pillows  or  spread  the 
sheets  on  her  own  narrow  white  bed,  but  this 
colossal  old  ark  was  a  very  different  affair. 
Toss  and  tug  the  bedclothes  as  best  she  could, 
they  still  persisted  in  trailing  forlornly  on  one 
side  or  the  other ;  strange  lumps  rose  up  un- 
expectedly, and  as  fast  as  she  smoothed  out 
one  wrinkle,  another  appeared.  In  spite  of 
herself  she  became  interested  in  those  lumps 
and  wrinkles ;  there  was  fascination  in  their 
very  ability  to  tantalize.  It  was  a  triumph 
when  she  could  force  them  to  subside  and 
could  make  the  bed  all  smooth  and  even  on 
the  top ;  fun  to  plump  up  the  big  fat  pillows 
in  their  absurdly  braided  old  pillow-cases,  and 
to  roll  up  the  puffy  down  quilt  in  its  funny 


DEBORAH  53 

patchwork  cover,  and  put  it  neatly  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed  ;  best  of  all  to  have  the  happy  sense 
of  achievement. 

"  It  really  looks  very  nice,"  she  gasped,  as, 
Marie  Smythe  and  her  various  grievances 
quite  forgotten,  she  stood  off  with  critical 
head  tilted  to  one  side  to  admire  her  handi- 
work, "  it  really  does."  And  indeed,  it  did, 
although — as  she  found  out  that  night  when 
she  went  to  bed — the  blankets  were  neatly 
sandwiched  between  the  sheets. 

Just  as  she  gave  her  handiwork  a  last  pat, 
her  trunks  arrived  and  Deborah  came  up- 
stairs to  help  her  to  unpack  them.  "  My, 
that  bed  looks  nice, — it's  a  hard  one  to  make, 
too,"  she  admired,  and  Margery  smiled  quite 
pleasantly  as  she  got  out  her  keys  and  un- 
locked the  trunks. 

With  careless  hands  she  was  tossing  out  her 
clothes  onto  bed  and  chairs,  when  a  soft  gasp 
made  her  turn.  There  stood  Deborah  gently 
stroking  a  little  shell  pink  muslin  she  had 
spread  out  on  the  bed.  "  Isn't  it  lovely,"  she 
murmured,  "  isn't  it  just  like  a  flower, — a 
sweet  pea,  or  maybe  a  rosebud.  And  soft  as  a 
baby's  cheek,  too.  I  do  love  pink,"  she  ex- 


54  MARGERT  MORRIS 

plained,  blushing  faintly.  "  When  I  was  a 
girl  I  longed  for  a  dainty  pink  cobweb  like 
this  one.  But  I  never  got  it." 

Margery  sat  back  on  her  heels,  and  con- 
templated Deborah  ;  anybody  who  had  never 
had  a  pink  dress  was  rather  interesting. 
"  But  why  didn't  you  ?  "  she  queried. 
"  Both  my  older  sisters  had  red  hair." 
"  But  what  had  their  red  hair  to  do  with  it?" 
Deborah  laughed.  "  I  guess  you  don't 
know  much  about  big  families.  We  only  got 
a  new  dress  about  once  in  so  often,  and  then 
my  sisters  had  the  first  choice — which  was 
only  right,  you  see,  as  they  were  older.  Hav- 
ing red  hair  they  naturally  took  blue.  I  never 
was  very  partial  to  blue,  and  unless  it's  a  good 
dark  blue,  it  does  get  kind  of  streaky  and 
faded  by  the  time  it  gets  down  to  a  third 
sister." 

Margery  undid  a  patent  leather  pump  from 
its  tissue-paper  wrappings,  and  put  it  down 
on  the  floor  beside  her.  "  And  didn't  you 
even  once  have  a  pink  dress  ? "  she  asked. 
That  any  one  should  have  to  do  without  such 
a  trifling  thing  as  a  pink  dress  seemed  almost 
unbelievable  to  her. 


DEBORAH  55 

"  No."  Deborah  slipped  the  frock  on  a 
hanger  and  hung  it  in  the  cupboard.  "  There, 
I  hung  it  well  back  where  the  light  won't  get 
at  it  and  fade  it.  No,  I  never  once  got  a  pink 
dress — I  did  save  up  the  money  for  it  several 
times.  Once  when  I  was  about  your  age  I 
picked  berries  all  one  July  for  old  Farmer 
Weygandt ;  he  was  powerfully  cross  and 
stingy,  too.  And  a  couple  of  other  times  I 
made  some  money  for  it  doing  one  thing  or 
the  other.  But  every  time  just  as  I  got  the 
money  saved  up,  something  or  other  hap- 
pened— Mother  had  rheumatism,  or  the 
kitchen  stove  needed  repairing,  or  the  cow 
died — and  the  money  was  needed.  Now,  of 
course,  I'm  making  a  nice  lot  of  money,  for 
me,  and  there's  nobody  really  dependent  on 
me — but  an  old  lady  like  me  would  look  fine 
prancing  around  in  a  pink  dress,  wouldn't 
she  ?  I  guess  a  pink  dress  would  have  made 
me  too  vain,  so  I  wasn't  meant  to  have  it," 
and  Deborah  laughed  softly  as  she  picked  up 
a  white  blouse,  and  tenderly  stroked  a  tiny 
lace-edged  ruffle  with  her  work-worn  old 
hands. 

Margery  thoughtfully  unwrapped  the  other 


56  MARGERT  MORRIS 

pump.     "  Didn't    you    feel    bad    when    you 
couldn't  have  the  dress?  " 

"  Mercy,  yes.  Isn't  that  hat  lovely,  now  ? 
It  just  looks  like  a  young  girl — those  roses,  I 
do  believe,  are  prettier  than  real  ones.  Yes,  I 
did  feel  bad  about  the  pink  dress  sometimes — 
but  it  was  always  a  comfort  to  feel  that  I  * 
could  have  had  the  dress,  if  only  I  had  had  the 
money  for  it.  Now  my  cousin,  Eliza  Moore, 
who  was  a  Quakeress,  or  Friend,  as  they  say, 
had  lots  of  money,  but  her  family  were  such 
plain  Friends  that  she  couldn't  even  wear  the 
plain  little  gold  brooch  her  lover  gave  her,  on 
the  day  that  they  were  married — and  as  for 
her  having  such  a  thing  as  a  pink  dress,  well, 
that  just  couldn't  be  thought  of!  But  though 
Mother  was  born  a  Quaker,  she  married  a 
Baptist,  so  they  put  her  out  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  the  way  they  used  to  do  for  '  out- 
going in  marriage.'  So  Mother,  though  she 
liked  things  plain  and  dainty,  didn't  have  to 
hold  with  Quaker  ideas  of  dress.  Oh,  there 
are  lots  of  comforting  things  in  life — if  you 
only  hunt  for  them  long  enough." 

"  Pretty   long    hunt   sometimes,"   Margery 
murmured  resentfully,  gazing  with  unseeing 


DEBORAH  57 

eyes  at  a  pair  of  overshoes.  She  had  suddenly 
remembered  Marie  Smythe. 

"  Here,"  and  Deborah  interrupted  her  rev- 
ery,  "  I'll  do  that  unpacking  for  you.  There's 
no  need  for  you  to  strain  your  young  back 
over  those  trunks.  I'll  do  it  for  you,  if" — 
she  hesitated  a  little — "  if  you'll  put  on  that 
pink  dress  and  that  hat  with  the  roses  on  it. 
I'd  just  like  to  look  at  you." 

With  a  somewhat  superior  smile,  but  in- 
wardly rather  flattered,  Margery  slipped  out 
of  her  sailor  suit  and  into  the  pink  muslin, 
and  put  on  the  big  black  hat  with  the  pink 
velvet  roses  at  the  most  becoming  angle. 

"  Well  now,  if  you  aren't  a  picture !  Those 
roses  just  match  the  roses  in  your  cheeks, 
and  that  black  hat  makes  your  hair  all  the 
goldener.  It's  a  treat  just  to  look  at  you. 
Sit  down  there,  and  don't  do  a  thing  but  look 
pretty — I'll  be  through  this  in  a  jifiy." 

Margery  sat  back  in  a  low  chair,  feeling 
that  Deborah  was  really  very  nice,  after  all, — 
although  of  course  she  would  have  to  be  kept 
in  her  place,  and  watched  the  little  woman 
putting  away  frills  and  furbelows  into  cup- 
board and  bureau.  Deborah,  meanwhile,  ut- 


58  MARGERT  MORRIS 

tering  soft  little  clucks  of  pleasure  over  each 
particular  piece  of  daintiness  that  she  laid 
away  in  its  new  home ;  and  despairing  cries 
when  Margery,  changing  to  another  chair,  in- 
advertently sat  on  her  second  best  hat. 

"  Well,"  said  Deborah,  as  she  finished  ar- 
ranging Margery's  silver  brush  and  comb  and 
mirror  on  the  old  mahogany  bureau,  and 
spread  out  her  silk  kimono  over  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  "  I've  almost  had  my  fill  for  once  of 
handling  pretty  things.  You  certainly  never 
know  what  nice  thing  is  in  store  for  you,  do 
you?  I  groaned  when  I  knew  you  were 
coming.  We've  had  so  much  company  this 
past  summer,  and  I  get  so  worn  out  trying  to 
keep  things  going  and  looking  nice,  and  doing 
my  best  to  make  everybody  happy.  But  here 
you  turn  up  as  sweet  and  pretty  as  a  picture," 
and  Deborah's  beauty  loving  eyes  rested  ad- 
miringly on  Margery,  "  and  with  all  these 
lovely  things  to  take  care  of.  Now,  I  must 
skip  down-stairs — I  think  I'd  better  be  seeing 
about  dinner." 

Left  alone,  Margery  laughed  a  little  uncom- 
fortably as  she  took  off  the  big  hat  and  hung 
away  the  pink  muslin.  She  wished  that 


DEBORAH  59 

Deborah  wouldn't  be  so  silly — but  she  was 
rather  a  nice  little  thing,  after  all. 

After  the  noonday  dinner  which  she  had 
alone  with  Deborah,  as  the  boys  had  stayed 
in  the  town  for  a  football  game,  Margery 
settled  down  to  write  to  Marie  Smythe.  But 
there  seemed  to  be  very  little  te  say, — that 
Marie  would  understand,  at  any  rate.  She 
described  Thomas,  whom  she  catalogued  as 
"  our  old  family  butler,"  and  mentioned  the 
fact  that  her  grandfather's  house  had  great 
white  pillars  in  front.  After  that  she  paused 
to  refresh  herself  by  eating  a  piece  of  nougat ; 
took  up  her  pen  ;  put  it  down  again  ;  then 
decided  that  she  would  investigate  the  smell 
of  chocolate  stealing  appetizingly  up  the  stairs. 

In  the  kitchen  she  found  Deborah  spread- 
ing the  icing  on  a  three-layer  chocolate  cake. 
In  spite  of  her  grown-up  airs,  Margery  was 
still  enough  of  a  child  to  be  interested  in 
chocolate  cake,  and  she  at  once  decided  that 
being  in  the  kitchen  was  less  dreary  than 
sitting  alone  up-stairs. 

In  truth,  the  kitchen  was  a  cheery  place, 
with  the  scarlet  geraniums  with  which  Deb- 
orah had  indulged  her  love  of  beauty  bloom- 


60  MARGERT  MORRIS 

ing  in  the  sunny  windows,  its  yellow  painted 
walls  and  woodwork,  and  its  spotless  floor 
covered  with  a  bright  rag  carpet.  The  gi- 
gantic old  fireplace  had  been  bricked  up,  and 
a  modern  range  stood  in  front  of  it ;  but  on 
the  mantelpiece  an  old  mahogany  clock  ticked 
away,  and  the  brass  candlesticks  stood  sen- 
tinel as  they  had  done  in  the  long  ago  days 
when  the  United  States  was  a  lusty  infant 
barely  out  of  swaddling-clothes. 

With  an  elaborately  detached  air,  Margery 
leaned  against  the  window  frame  and  played 
with  a  geranium  leaf.  Deborah  looked  up  at 
her  and  smiled  as  she  put  the  cake  to  one  side 
and  got  out  a  clean  old  table-cloth  which  she 
carefully  folded  and  placed  on  the  table. 

"  I  like  the  smell  of  geranium  leaves,  don't 
you  ? "  Deborah  remarked.  "  Mrs.  Smally, 
the  wife  of  the  druggist  in  town,  was  telling 
me  that  the  French  women  use  geranium  as  a 
perfume — well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  wonder,  it's 
such  a  fresh,  clean  smell.  My,  but  you  do 
remind  me  of  my  little  sister,  standing  there 
with  the  sun  on  your  curls.  She  had  hair 
like  yours,  as  golden  as  gold.  When  she  was 
little  I  used  to  tell  her  to  keep  out  of  the 


DEBORAH  61 

fields  where  the  cows  were,  for  fear  they  would 
eat  her  for  a  buttercup.  She  was  as  sweet  and 
pretty  as  a  pink,  too, — but  she  died  when  she 
was  just  nineteen — of  a  broken  heart,"  and 
Deborah  took  off  her  spectacles  and  polished 
them  carefully  on  a  corner  of  her  apron. 

Margery  was  fast  approaching  the  romantic 
age  when  a  broken  heart  appears  to  be  the 
only  appropriate  organ  to  lay  claim  to.  "  Oh, 
tell  me,"  she  asked,  her  face  lighting  up  with 
genuine  interest,  "  really  a  broken  heart?  " 

Deborah  settled  her  glasses  carefully  back  on 
her  nose  before  she  answered.  "  Yes,  really 
a  broken  heart.  You  see,  it  was  this  way : 
first  there  was  Mary,  she  was  the  oldest  of  the 
family.  She  had  red  hair,  and  red  hair  wasn't 
fashionable  in  those  days.  And  then  there 
was  Sally,  and  she  was  red-headed,  too ;  and 
then  I  came,  and  I  wasn't  anything  particular 
as  to  looks,  and  then  came  the  two  boys,  and 
then  Lizzie.  And  so,  you  see,  when  she  was 
seventeen  the  rest  of  us  were  pretty  well  along. 
And  as  it  happened  none  of  us  were  married 
— which  didn't  suit  Father  one  bit — Father 
had  real  decided  notions  about  the  way  things 
ought  to  be.  Well,  when  Lizzie  was  seventeen 


62  MARGERT  MORRIS 

she  got  engaged  to  David  Fortescue — they  had 
been  sweethearts  ever  since  their  mud-pie 
days.  But  when  David  spoke  to  Father, 
Father  said,  '  no,' — very  firm.  He  said  that 
he  wasn't  going  to  have  any  picking  and 
choosing  in  his  family  ;  the  Lord  had  sent  his 
children  in  order,  and  they  would  have  to  go 
in  order.  As  Lizzie  had  three  older  sisters, 
she'd  have  to  wait  until  they  were  married. 
You  see,  Father  had  the  old-fashioned  notion 
that  it  was  a  disgrace  to  have  the  older  sisters 
single  when  the  younger  ones  were  married. 
And  he  kept  Lizzie  as  strict  as  could  be,  and 
wouldn't  let  her  see  David.  We  girls  all  just 
worshipped  the  ground  that  Lizzie  walked  on, 
and  so  we  did  our  level  best  for  her.  Mary 
said  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  take  the 
widower  with  seven  children,  who  had  been 
after  her  for  ten  years,  and  whom  she  couldn't 
abide,  and  Sally  even  made  up  her  mind  to 
Cranky  Bennie  Black." 

"Cranky  Bennie?" 

"  Yes,  people  called  him  that  because  he 
was  so  disagreeable.  The  two  boys  we  didn't 
bother  about  for  we  knew  that  as  soon  as  we 
had  married  off  down  to  them  they  could 


DEBORAH  63 

take  care  of  themselves.  There  never  was  a 
man  yet  too  old,  or  ugly,  or  disagreeable,  not 
to  be  able  to  get  some  woman  to  have  him. 
But  all  of  our  planning  wasn't  any  use.  Just 
as  Mary  got  resigned  to  the  idea  of  the  widower, 
he  went  and  married  another  woman,  a  widow 
with  four  children  and  some  money.  That 
knocked  things  right  in  the  head  at  the  start, 
for  of  course  if  Father  insisted  on  our  going 
in  order,  it  wasn't  any  use  then  for  the  rest 
of  us  to  try  anything,  if  the  eldest  one  was  put 
out  of  the  race,  first  whack. 

"  And  then  Lizzie  began  to  get  thinner  and 
thinner,  and  she  felt  so  blue  and  discouraged 
that  she  didn't  take  care  of  her  health,  and 
got  a  bad  cold  on  her  lungs." 

"  Why  didn't  she  elope?  "  interrupted  Mar- 
gery. "  Marie  Smythe's  cousin  did." 

Deborah  looked  at  her  over  the  tops  of  her 
glasses.  "  Such  a  thing  as  that  was  never 
done  in  our  family,"  she  said  firmly.  "  Any- 
way, by  that  time  she  was  really  too  sick  to  . 
elope.  But  if  she  had  only  kept  well  it  would 
have  come  out  all  right.  Things  mostly  do  if 
you  just  give  them  time  enough.  For  just 
about  that  time,  Father  was  cleaning  out  the 


64  MARGERT  MORRIS 

well,  when  he  slipped  and  fell  in  head  fore- 
most. He  caught  himself  by  the  bucket 
chain,  and  so  he  wasn't  in  any  danger  of 
drowning,  but  he  was  in  an  uncomfortable 
position.  Sally  heard  him  call  for  help,  and 
she  went  out  to  him.  And  then,  she  said 
afterward,  it  just  came  to  her  what  she  ought 
to  do.  You  usually  could  make  Father  listen 
to  reason  if  you  could  only  get  him  so  that  he 
couldn't  jump  up  and  go  out  of  the  room,  or 
begin  to  wind  the  clock,  or  something  like 
that. 

"  So  Sally  sat  down  at  the  top  of  the  well 
and  she  talked  to  him,  and  pointed  out  to 
him  how  his  falling  into  the  well  was  a 
judgment  on  him  for  making  Lizzie  and  all 
of  us  so  unhappy.  And  Father  finally  ad- 
mitted that  he  was  in  the  wrong,  so  Sally 
called  the  hired  man,  and  together  they 
pulled  Father  up.  Father  sent  for  David  and 
told  him  that  he  and  Lizzie  could  be  married 
any  time  that  they  wanted  to,  and  that  he 
would  give  Lizzie  his  blessing.  But  it  was 
too  late  then,"  and  Deborah  took  off  her 
glasses  and  frankly  wiped  her  eyes.  "  Lizzie 
had  gone — too  far  into  a  decline — and  that 


DEBORAH  65 

spring — she  died — -just  when  the  fields  were 
yellow  with  buttercups." 

Margery  stood  thoughtfully  twisting  the 
shreds  of  the  geranium  leaf.  The  homely  lit- 
tle tale  had  touched  the  more  human  side  of 
her  nature,  the  tenderer  side  that  her  father 
felt  to  be  blooming  like  flowers  under  the 
snow.  "  It's  a  sad  world,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said 
at  last. 

"  That  it  is,  dear, — but,"  the  housekeeper's 
sweet  old  voice  took  on  a  cheerful  tone,  "  I 
don't  believe  the  dear  Lord  meant  it  to  be. 
If  we  just  have  patience  and  faith  in  Him, 
things  almost  always  work  out  right.  If  my 
darling  just  could  have  kept  the  faith  in  her 
dear  heart,  and  had  had  the  patience  and 
courage  to  wait,  and  had  taken  care  of  her 
health,  and  had  not  gone  around  in  wet  shoes, 
everything  would  have  worked  out  all  right. 
But,  you  see,  she  was  young, — and  youth  is 
always  impatient.  I  think  that  life  is  just 
like  this  bread,"  and  Deborah  paused  while 
she  opened  the  oven  door,  and  taking  out  a 
large  bread-pan,  carefully  emptied  out  the 
golden-brown  loaves  of  bread  onto  the  folded 
table-cloth. 


66  MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  This  is  fine  bread  now,"  and  she  touched 
it  with  the  pride  of  the  artist,  "  because  it  was 
not  only  stirred  right,  but  baked  right.  But 
suppose  that  half  an  hour  ago  I  had  said, 
*  I'm  tired  of  waiting ;  Mrs.  Jones'  bread  is 
done,  and  Mrs.  Smith's  bread  is  done,  and  it 
is  getting  late,  and  I  am  too  tired  to  wait  any 
longer.'  And  suppose  that  I  had  insisted  on 
taking  it  out  of  the  oven,  and  slamming  it 
on  the  table,  and  trying  to  cut  it.  A  nice, 
doughy  mess  it  would  have  been  !  And  the 
worst  of  bread — when  it  is  life — is  that  you 
can't  escape  from  eating  it  just  because  you've 
pulled  it  too  soon  from  the  oven,  and  you  can't 
throw  it  way  and  say  that  you  will  make 
some  more.  No,  you've  got  to  eat  it,  and 
what's  harder  yet,  those  who  are  nearest  and 
dearest  to  you  have  to  eat  it,  too  ;  for  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  living  singly  in  this  world. 

"  Or  suppose,"  she  went  on,  as  she  put  the 
bread-pan  in  the  sink,  "  that  I  had  gotten  dis- 
couraged, and  said,  '  That  bread  is  never  going 
to  bake  1  I'll  just  go  into  the  pantry  and  eat 
jam  to  keep  my  mind  from  it,'  and  had  gone 
away  in  my  discouragement  and  left  the  bread 
to  burn  up.  Well,  I  should  probably  have 


DEBORAH  67 

had  to  eat  the  burnt  crumbs, — and  been  good 
and  sick  from  the  jam,  too  I  Just  as  in  real 
life  people  who  do  wicked  and  silly  things  to 
forget  their  wearinesses  get  sick  souls.  And 
now,  dear,  I'll  have  to  go  down  cellar  after 
some  canned  fruit.  There  are  some  interest- 
ing books  in  the  library — and  you'd  better 
take  some  of  these  sweet  red  apples  to  eat. 
Dick  will  have  to  see  that  you  meet  some  of 
the  nice  young  girls  in  Renwyck's  Town — 
there  are  quite  a  number  of  them — and  then 
you  won't  have  to  have  another  dull  day  with 
a  chattery  old  body  like  me." 

"  I  suppose,"  thought  Margery  as  she  selected 
"  Tom  Sawyer,"  and  curled  up  in  a  big  chair 
in  the  library  with  her  feet  under  her  in  a 
comfortable,  if  inelegant,  position,  "  that 
Deborah  has  the  cheerful  heart  that  Mamma 
is  always  talking  about." 


CHAPTER  V 

TEMPE  WICK 

"  TOM  SAWYER  "  proved  to  be  so  unex- 
pectedly interesting, — although  Margery  had 
a  guilty  feeling  that  Marie  Smythe  would  have 
thoroughly  disapproved  of  such  a  vulgar  little 
boy, — that  she  started  quite  violently  when 
Benjamin  suddenly  put  his  grubby  little  hand 
under  her  chin,  and  tilted  back  her  head. 

"  Why,  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?"  asked 
the  child  doubtfully  as  she  impatiently  shook 
her  head  free.  "  I  thought  you  would  be." 

Margery  was  not  overwhelmed  with  de- 
light, and  did  not  exert  herself  to  conceal  the 
fact  as  she  turned  back  to  the  boy  in  the  book. 

The  real  boy  before  her  backed  off  to  the 
door,  a  hurt  look  in  his  round  blue  eyes. 
"Perhaps,  Margery,"  he  said  bravely,  although 
his  voice  quivered  a  little,  "  you'd  like  to 
come  out  to  the  stable.  Dick  told  me  to  ask 
you.  He's  going  to  take  Tempe  Wick  out  to 

68 


TEMPE  WICK  69 

exercise  her — and  he  thought  perhaps  you'd 
like  to  see  the  stable  and  the  big  barn.  It's 
an  awful  nice  barn,  Margery, — the  nicest  in 
the  county." 

Margery  sighed  impatiently.  She  had 
caught  the  quiver  in  the  childish  voice, 
and  felt  reproached,  and  therefore  annoyed 
by  it.  But  glancing  up,  her  heart  softened 
at  the  sight  of  the  wistful  little  figure  stand- 
ing so  manfully  by  the  door. 

"  Oh,  what  a  nuisance  little  boys  are !  "  she 
cried,  nevertheless  tossing  her  book  onto  the 
table.  "  Come  on." 

Although  he  winced  at  the  term  "  little 
boy,"  Benjamin  was  all  smiles  and  delight, 
and  as  they  went  toward  the  stable,  gamboled 
around  her  as  gayly  as  an  excited  puppy. 

"  Can  you  ride,  Margery  ?  I  can,  and  so 
can  Dick.  Dick  ought  to  exercise  Tempo 
Wick  every  day,  but  he  doesn't  do  it.  She's 
Grandfather's  saddle  horse,  and  Dick's  sup- 
posed to  keep  her  in  good  condition  while 
he's  away.  I  can  ride  an  awful  big  horse, 
Margery, — an  awful  big  one,"  he  boasted, 
child-fashion. 

"  Yes,   you're    a   wonder,"   laughed    Dick, 


70  MARGERT  MORRIS 

pulling  his  small  brother's  ear.  "  Can  you 
ride,  Margery  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed, — of  course  I  can  ride,"  an- 
swered Margery,  her  tone  only  a  trifle  less 
boastful  than  that  of  Benjamin's. 

Dick  critically  examined  the  bit  of  the  tall 
horse  that  he  had  just  led  out  of  the  stable. 
"All  Western  girls  ride,"  he  remarked  judi- 
cially. Having  met  three  Western  girls  in 
the  whole  of  his  vast  experience,  he  was  well 
qualified  to  speak. 

"  Then  why  can't  Margery  ride  Tempe,  and 
show  me  the  way  the  Indians  ride  ?  Please, 
Dick,  please  let  her,"  begged  Benjamin. 

"  No,  kid.  Tempe  is  a  pretty  ugly  customer, 
you  know,  when  she  happens  to  feel  like  it." 

Margery  looked  at  the  mare,  a  powerful, 
raw-boned  animal,  who  was  standing  now 
with  drooping  head ;  and  kitoVing  but  little 
of  horse-flesh,  decided  that  she  was  not  nearly 
so  dangerous  as  the  arch-necked,  high-step- 
ping creatures  that  she  had  ridden  in  the 
riding  ring.  "  Nonsense,  Dick,"  she  said 
loftily,  "  I  can  ride  her,  and  I  shall." 

"  We  don't  own  a  side-saddle.  Besides, 
Tempe  isn't  a  ladies'  horse — Grandfather  has 


TEMPE  WICK  71 

her  because  she  can  carry  weight — he's  gotten 
pretty  heavy  lately." 

"  I  always  ride  astride ;  I  have  a  regular 
costume  for  it."  And  indeed,  Margery  owned 
a  particularly  fetching  riding-rig  of  breeches 
and  long  coat.  "  Besides,  Professor  Riggs 
taught  me,  and  he's  the  very  best  riding- 
master.  Who  gave  you  lessons  ?  " 

Dick  laughed ;  he  had  ridden  almost  ever 
since  he  was  old  enough  to  sit  up  alone. 
"  Never  had  a  lesson  in  my  life.  You  don't 
need  lessons." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Dick,  there  are  lots  of  little  things 
that  you  can't  possibly  know  without  lessons 
— Professor  Riggs  said  so." 

"  Did  he  ?  Well,  I  guess  I  can  stick  on  as 
well  as  anybody." 

"  Oh,  yes,  anybody  can  stick  on.  But  that 
isn't  krfowing  the  little  things — and  it's  the 
little  things  that  count ;  Professor  Riggs  said 


so." 


"  Yes  ?  Did  he  ?  "  answered  Dick  absently, 
searching  through  his  pockets  for  something. 
"  Pshaw !  I've  gone  and  left  those  arrow- 
heads in  the  house." 

"  What  are  you   going  to  do  with  them, 


72  MARGERT  MORRIS 

Dick  ? "  questioned  Benjamin  rather  anx- 
iously. "  Half  of  them  are  mine,  you  know, 
Dick." 

"  Yep.  I'm  just  going  to  show  them  to  old 
Mr.  Morris,  if  he  is  well  enough  to  see  any- 
body. I'm  going  to  ride  over  and  inquire 
how  he  is,  anyway.  Besides,  I  want  to  see 
him  about  something." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Benjamin,  still  rather  sus- 
picious on  the  score  of  his  arrow-heads. 

"  Oh,  nothing  much.  He  knows  a  lot  about 
old  things,  and  it's  just  a  good  ride  over  there 
and  back,"  and  tying  Tempe  Wick  to  a  hook 
by  the  stable  door,  Dick  hurried  toward  the 
house.  "  Don't  fool  with  Tempe,  either  of 
you  two,"  he  called  back  warningly. 

Margery  looked  after  him  with  reproachful 
dignity.  She  was  not  going  to  be  told  what 
she  could  ride,  and  what  she  could  not,  by  a 
boy  who  had  never  had  a  riding  lesson  in  his 
life,  and  who  could  go  out  looking  like  that, 
and  she  flashed  a  disdainful  glance  at  Dick's 
legs  as  they  disappeared  through  the  kitchen 
doorway ;  Dick  having  merely  buckled  on  a 
discarded  pair  of  his  grandfather's  leggings  as 
a  preliminary  to  his  ride. 


TEMPE  WICK  73 

"  Benjamin,"  she  announced,  untying 
Tempe  Wick,  who  laid  back  her  ears  omi- 
nously, "  I'm  going  to  ride  around  the  house 
and  show  Dick." 

"  Oh,  goody,"  exulted  Benjamin,  climbing 
to  a  precarious  perch  on  the  top  of  the  stable 
pump.  "  I  can  see  you  finely  from  up  here." 

With  the  bridle  in  her  hand,  Margery  stood 
thinking.  She  wished  that  she  had  time  to 
slip  into  the  house  and  put  on  her  riding 
costume ;  it  would  be  so  much  more  im- 
pressive. But  before  she  could  do  it,  Dick 
would  be  out  of  the  house,  mounted,  and 
away.  No,  she  would  have  to  ride  as  she 
was.  Her  short  pleated  skirt,  and  the  bloom- 
ers she  wore  under  it  instead  of  cumbersome 
petticoats,  would  do,  of  course,  as  an  im- 
promptu riding  costume,  but  it  really  wasn't 
much  more  stylish  than  were  Dick's  leggings. 
Dick's  clear  whistle  came  from  the  house,  and 
dreading  lest  he  should  appear  too  soon  on 
the  scene,  she  hastily  led  Tempe  to  the  horse- 
block, from  which  she  proceeded  to  scramble 
into  the  saddle.  Tempe  had  no  idea  of  stand- 
ing patiently  like  the  horses  in  the  riding- 
school,  and  Margery  managed  the  climb  with 


74  MARGERY  MORRIS 

so  little  skill  and  dignity  that  she  admitted  to 
herself  that  she  was  glad  Dick  was  not  on 
hand  at  that  particular  moment.  The  horse 
started  forward,  as  Margery  swung  her  foot 
over  the  saddle  and  reached  for  the  stirrups 
which,  being  arranged  for  Dick's  long  legs, 
she  could  scarcely  touch  with  the  tips  of  her 
toes.  But  she  sat  up  very  straight  and  held 
her  elbows  at  exactly  the  angle  Professor 
Riggs  had  taught  her. 

By  the  second  time  that  she  had  cantered 
along  the  driveway  that  encircled  the  house, 
her  confidence  came  back,  and  she  began  to 
hope  that  Dick  was  seeing  her  and  feeling 
properly  impressed.  He  really  needed  "  tak- 
ing down,  that  boy." 

Far  from  playing  the  role  of  awestruck 
spectator  assigned  to  him,  "  that  boy "  was 
placidly  strolling  from  the  back  door  to  the 
stable,  absorbed  in  something  that  he  was 
wrapping  in  a  strip  of  white  tissue  paper. 

"  Look  at  Ma'rgery,"  shouted  Benjamin. 

Dick  looked  up  and  waved  to  her  good- 
naturedly.  "Better  get  down,  Margery,"  he 
called.  "  She's  a  crotchety  beast." 

For  answer  Margery  struck  her  mount  a 


TEMPE  WICK  75 

stinging  blow  with  her  little  palm,  hardened 
by  gymnasium  work. 

The  nervous,  high-strung  animal  sprang 
forward  with  a  suddenness  that  nearly  cata- 
pulted Margery  out  of  the  saddle.  Her  right 
foot  slipped  out  of  the  stirrup,  and  she  felt 
herself  falling.  With  a  shriek  she  dropped 
the  reins,  and  clutched  at  Tempo's  mane,  a 
proceeding  which  Tempe  resented  even  more 
than  the  slap.  With  her  ears  laid  back 
viciously,  and  her  wicked  eyes  showing  the 
white  all  round,  she  bounded  violently  for- 
ward again.  Margery,  her  whole  being  sud- 
denly merged  into  an  agonized  endeavor  to 
stick  on,  forgot  Professor  Riggs  and  the  im- 
portance of  the  "  little  things,"  and  sprawled 
along  the  side  of  the  mare,  one  foot  waving 
defiance  in  the  air.  Around  the  house,  and 
round  again  flew  the  incensed  Tempe,  and 
nearer  and  nearer  toward  the  ground  slipped 
Margery,  and  straighter  toward  the  sky 
pointed  her  right  foot.  Her  arms  grew  weak, 
her  breath  grew  short,  she  gathered  together 
the  remnants  of  her  strength  for  a  despairing 
plunge  to  earth,  hoping  vaguely  to  miss  the 
cruelly  flying  hoofs. 


76  MARGERT  MORRIS 

Suddenly  some  one  whistled,  a  loud  clear 
whistle  that  Tempe  seemed  to  recognize.  She 
slackened  her  pace,  and  the  ears  laid  back  so 
wickedly  were  raised.  The  lessened  pace  en- 
abled Margery  to  perform  one  more  acrobatic 
feat,  and  with  a  last,  supreme  effort  she  hauled 
herself  back  into  the  saddle. 

Again  the  whistle  sounded,  and  Margery, 
limply  clinging  to  the  bridle,  was  carried 
toward  the  stable  porch,  where  Dick  stood 
with  his  cap  full  of  oats.  With  a  futile,  but 
instinctive,  effort  to  recover  her  lost  dignity, 
Margery  brushed  back  the  flying  witch-locks 
from  her  crimson  face,  rearranged  the  folds 
of  her  skirt,  and  sat  up  very  straight, 
trying  to  look  as  though  riding  with  one 
foot  pointing  toward  the  sky  was  quite  a  la 
mode. 

Dick  quietly  hitched  Tempe  to  a  post. 
"  Shall  I  help  you  down  now,  Margery  ?  "  he 
asked  gravely,  although  his  eyes  twinkled, 
and  he  swallowed  hard  as  a  burst  of  laughter 
almost  overtook  him. 

Benjamin  was  candidly  delighted.  "  You 
were  just  like  the  man  at  the  circus,  Mar- 
gery," he  whooped,  clinging  to  the  top  of  the 


TEMPE  WICK  77 

pump  like  a  particularly  lively  little  monkey 
on  a  stick.  "  Oh,  but  you  were  funny  !  " 

Dick  gave  him  a  warning  glance  as  he 
swung  Margery  down  from  the  saddle,  and 
she  stumbled  to  a  stool  providentially  near. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  my  Indian  arrow- 
heads, Margery  ?  "  he  asked  as  though  noth- 
ing had  happened. 

Margery  nodded ;  she  couldn't  speak  just 
then. 

"  Here  they  are,"  and  Dick  drew  a  little 
package  from  his  pocket  and  unwrapped  a 
handful  of  some  reddish,  pointed  stones. 
"  I'm  going  to  take  these  over  to  Mr.  Morris 
— he  knows  a  lot  about  old  things.  They 
were  made  by  the  Indians  that  were  here 
long  before  the  first  settlers  came, — nobody 
knows  just  how  old  they  may  be.  See,  you 
can  tell  how  each  one  has  been  chiseled  to  a 
point  by  some  sharp  instrument,  probably 
another  piece  of  stone.  Every  once  and  a 
while  somebody  finds  some ;  Denis  O'Flan- 
igan,  that's  the  farmer,  found  these  in  the 
south  meadow  the  other  day." 

"  Yes,  they  are  very  interesting,"  mur- 
mured Margery,  her  face  still  red. 


78  MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Well,  I  must  go,  or  it  will  be  too  late," 
and  Dick  jumped  onto  Tempe's  back,  and  in 
spite  of  his  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  "  little 
things  "  taught  only  by  Professor  Riggs,  rode 
off  with  considerably  more  style  than  Mar- 
gery had  been  able  to  achieve. 

Benjamin  scampered  off  to  play  with  the 
dilapidated  puppy  which  was  the  pride  of  his 
heart,  and  Margery  went  back  to  her  book 
feeling  decidedly  out  of  tune  with  life — and 
with  Dick  in  particular. 

"That  horrid  boy!"  she  fumed.  "He 
might  have  laughed."  Illogically  overlook- 
ing the  fact  that  she  would  have  been  deeply 
offended  if  Dick  had  laughed. 

She  read  on  for  a  page  or  two,  her  mind 
more  on  that  humiliating  episode  of  the 
wildly  waving  foot  than  on  the  whitewash- 
ing of  Tom  Sawyer's  fence.  "  Well,  anyway," 
she  comforted  herself  as  she  put  down  her 
book  and  went  in  search  of  Deborah's  more 
soothing  society,  "  Dick  doesn't  count  at  all — 
Papa's  always  so  stuck  on  anybody  that's 
related  to  us  that  I'm  sure  if  Grandpapa  had 
thought  much  of  Dick  Papa  would  have 
talked  reams  about  him.  Of  course,  Mamma 


TEMPE  WICK  79 

makes  the  best  of  it,  and  pretended  that  they 
would  be  a  pleasant  surprise  ;r  but  I'm  sure 
that  the  boys'  father  was  an  awful  black 
sheep,  and  broke  Aunt  Margaret's  heart. 
And  I'm  sure  that  they  are  really  afraid  that 
the  boys  are  going  to  be  like  him.  Benjamin 
mayn't — he's  so  young  perhaps  he  can  be 
taught  something  yet — but  I'm  sure  Dick  is 
going  to  be  a  black  sheep."  And  having 
settled  Dick's  future  'to  her  satisfaction,  she 
pushed  open  the  door  of  the  dining-room, 
where  Deborah  was  arranging  a  vase  of 
bright  autumn  leaves  on  the  table. 

At  the  supper  table  Benjamin  was  full  of 
Margery's  exploit.  In  vain  Dick  reached 
out  a  long  leg  and  kicked  him  under  the 
table.  "  You  just  ought  to  have  seen  her, 
Deborah,"  he  persisted.  "  She  was  awfully 
funny !  " 

Her  face  scarlet,  Margery  hurried  to  change 
the  subject.  "  Why  is  that  horse  called  Tem- 
evic  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  isn't  Temevic— it's  Tempe  Wick,"  ex- 
plained Deborah,  Dick  and  Benjamin  in  chorus. 

"  Short  for  Temperance  Wick,"  Deborah 
explained  as  Margery  looked  bewildered. 


8o  MARGERT  MORRIS 

"You  see,  Margie,  she's  named  after " 

began  Benjamin. 

"  Better  let  me  tell  the  story,  kid,"  inter- 
rupted Dick. 

"  Tell  your  old  story,  then  I "  cried  Benja- 
min. 

"  Boys,  boys,"  cautioned  Deborah,  "  don't 
forget  yourselves.  If  it  gives  you  much 
pleasure,  Dick,  I  guess  that  you  had  better 
tell  the  story." 

"  Well,  Margery,"  Dick  began,  looking 
rather  shamefaced,  "  Grandfather  named  her 
after  a  girl  that  lived  up  in  Jersey,  during 
the  Revolution.  Her  name  was  Tempe  Wick, 
short  for  Temperance  Wick.  Anyway,  she 
had  a  horse  named  General  that  she  was 
daffy  over.  One  day  when  she  was  out  rid- 
ing, didn't  a  whole  crowd  of  soldiers  jump 
out  on  the  road  from  behind  some  bushes  and 
demand  that  she  give  them  General  at  once, 
as  they  were  badly  in  need  of  horses." 

"  British  soldiers,  of  course,"  put  in  Mar- 
gery. 

"  No-o,  they  were  American,"  Dick  admit- 
ted, regretfully.  "  You  wouldn't  think  that 
Americans  would  do  a  mean  thing  like  that, 


TEMPE  WICK  81 

would  you?  Anyway,"  he  went  on,  "  Tempe 
was  bound  that  they  shouldn't  get  General, 
so  she  gave  him  a  crack  with  her  whip — and 
off  he  bounded !  The  men  chased  them,  but 
old  General  flew  like  a  cracker-jack  until 
they  reached  home.  Then  Tempe  was  in  a 
fix,  for  she  knew  that  the  soldiers  would  fol- 
low, and  take  General  away  from  the  stable. 
So  what  do  you  suppose  she  did  ?  " 

"What?"  asked  Margery  with  flattering 
interest ;  anything  was  better  than  having 
the  conversation  dwell  on  her  riding. 

"  Well,  the  back  kitchen  door  was  open,  so 
she  just  rode  straight  on  in  and  through  the 
house  to  the  guest  room  which  was  on  the 
ground  floor.  When  she  got  old  General  in 
there,  she  hitched  him  to  a  bed  post,  drew  the 
shutters  to  and  bolted  them,  and  went  out  the 
door,  locking  it  after  her.  Then  she  saun- 
tered out  into  the  yard,  as  cool  as  you  please. 
Just  as  she  got  there,  up  came  the  soldiers 
looking  for  General.  They  looked  for  him 
high  and  low ;  in  the  barn,  in  all  the  sheds, 
through  the  woods, — but  of  course  it  never  oc- 
curred to  them  to  look  in  the  house.  The 
next  day, — back  they  came  I  But  Tempe  had 


82  MARGERY  MORRIS 

the  sense  to  keep  General  still  hidden  in  the 
room.  And  she  kept  him  there  until  the  sol- 
diers had  left  that  part  of  the  country, — and 
never  once  did  old  General  give  himself  away 
by  stamping  or  neighing." 

As  Dick  finished  his  story,  Deborah  set 
down  a  plate  of  doughnuts  on  the  table. 

"  Can  you  cook?  "  she  asked  of  Margery. 

"  No,  indeed." 

Dick  looked  surprised.  "  Can't  you  ?  Why, 
that's  funny!  I  remember  perfectly,  and  it's 
the  chief  tfhing  I  do  remember  about  Uncle's 
letters,  that  your  father  said  you  were  a  won- 
derful cook  for  a  young  girl." 

"  Can't  you  really  cook  ?  "  Benjamin  added 
reproachfully. 

Deborah  laughed.  "  You  may  be  sure,"  she 
said,  turning  to  Margery,  "that  these  perpet- 
ually hungry  boys  will  try  to  wish  you  into  a 
first-class  cook.  I  wish  that  I  could  discover 
something  that  they  would  get  enough  of  for 
qpnce.  No,  Benjie,  dear,  no  more  doughnuts 
to-night — bad  dreams,  you  know.  Wake  up, 
Dick  ;  what  are  you  mooning  about?  " 

Dick  looked  up  from  the  little  pile  of  bread 
pills  that  he  had  manufactured;  a  habit  of 


TEMPE  WICK  83 

which  Deborah  had  vainly  tried  to  break 
him. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you 
were  to  stay  all  winter,  Margery?" 

Margery  sighed.  "  Yes,  the  whole  long 
winter." 

"  Had  your  father  said  anything  about 
school?"  * 

"  Yes,  he  wrote  to  Grandpapa  about  it, — I'm 
to  go  to  the  Quaker  school,  or  some  such  funny 
sort  of  place.  The  boys  and  girls  go  to  school 
there  together — I  just  despise  the  idea  of  going 
to  school  with  boys.  At  home  I  went  to  Miss 
Spencer's ;  that's  the  very  best  school  in  the 
whole  state  of  California.  Where  do  you 
go  ?  "  she  finished.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her 
before  to  wonder  where  the  boys  got  their 
schooling. 

"  We  go  to  the  Quaker  school — Friends' 
school,  they  call  it  here.  '  Society  of  Friends,' 
you  know.  Grandfather  was  a  Friend  when 
he  was  a  young  man,  and  he  still  likes  their 
ways.  Besides,  it's  the  only  good  school  in 
town." 

"  It  sounds  awful,"  commented  Margery,  as 
they  got  up  from  the  table.  "  I  know  I'll 


8  4  MARGERT  MORRIS 

loathe  it.  But  I  think  that  I'd  better  go  on 
Monday.  It's  awfully  dull  out  here, — besides, 
I  don't  want  to  lose  any  more  time  than  I 
have  to.  I  don't  want  to  drop  back  a  class 
when  I  go  home, — I  suppose  that  I'll  be  way 
behind  anyway,  studying  at  -such  a  little 
country  school,"  and  Margery  looked  very 
much  martyred  and  despairing. 

Dick  and  Benjamin  went  out  to  look  after 
Benjamin's  puppy,  which  had  cut  its  foot,  and 
Margery  slipped  into  the  darkened  library, 
where  she  curled  up  on  one  of  the  wide  win- 
dow seats.  The  stillness  of  the  country  night, 
broken  only  by  the  melancholy  hooting  of  an 
owl,  seemed  almost  terrifying  to  her,  and  she 
wondered  uneasily  if  her  father  and  mother, 
far  out  on  the  ocean  by  this  time,  were  safe. 
The  owl's  hooting  seemed  to  waken  all  sorts 
of  mental  spectres.  She  had  left  her  parents 
in  the  fierce  heat  of  resentment,  but  now,  ac- 
customed, if  not  reconciled,  to  her  new  home, 
the  resentment  died  down,  and  she  longed  to 
tell  her  mother  about  Deborah  and  to  be 
praised  and  petted  for  having  made  a  bed  so 
beautifully,  and  to  ask  her  father  all  about  the 
boys  and  her  Aunt  Margaret  and  the  boys' 


TEMPE  WICK  85 

father,  and  to  have  him  pull  her  curls  and 
call  her  "  mischief."  She  was  sorry,  she 
thought,  that  she  had  been  so  horrid  when  she 
left, — she  would  write  to-morrow  the  loveliest 
letter  imaginable. 

Lost  in  her  thoughts  she  almost  screamed 
with  fright  when  some  one  close  by  stumbled 
over  a  chair  in  the  dark. 

"  Are  you  there,  Margery  ?  "  came  Dick's 
voice. 

"  Gracious,  yes, — is  that  you  ?  "  Severely, 
"  You  gave  me  an  awful  fright." 

Dick  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  lamp. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  in  the  dark  ? 
Ouch !  That  did  burn  my  fingers  I  The 
puppy  scratched  me  up  pretty  well,  too,"  and 
Dick  ruefully  examined  his  injuries.  "  Well, 
that  doesn't  matter.  I  say,  Margery,"  he 
blurted  out,  seizing  the  back  of  a  chair,  and 
settling  himself  astride  of  its  seat,  "  I  want 
to  ask  you  some  questions." 

"  All  right.     Go  on." 

"  When  did  you  decide  to  come  here?" 

Margery  sighed ;  the  elaborately  patient 
sigh  of  the  impatient.  "  I  explained  all  that 
to  you  yesterday  ;  shall  I  do  it  again  in  words 


86  MARGERY  MORRIS 

of  one  syllable  ?  I  came  because  Papa  and 
Mamma  are  going  to  Japan.  Papa  had  busi- 
ness there, — something  to  do  with  banking. 
They  found  that  they  would  have  to  go  ear- 
lier; so  I  got  shipped  off.  I  wanted  to  stay 
with  Marie  Smythe,  as  her  mother  asked  me 
to  do.  But  Papa  wouldn't  let  me.  If  my 
presence  worries  you  so  much,  I'll  write  to 
Grandpapa  and  have  him  give  me  a  certificate." 

The  shy  boy  flushed  crimson  under  his  tan, 
clear  up  to  the  roots  of  his  light  hair,  almost 
the  color  of  Margery's  own,  but  he  stood  his 
ground  manfully.  "  And  you  really  come 
from  California,  not  Texas  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Where  did  you  address  your  letters  when 
you  wrote  to  Grandfather?" 

Margery  hesitated.  She  rather  disliked  hav- 
ing to  admit  how  seldom  she  had  written  to 
her  grandfather  of  late,  and  how  much  prod- 
ding it  had  taken  from  her  mother  to  make 
her  write  the  few  letters  she  did  achieve. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  remember,"  she  stammered, 
"  b-box  68,  or  86,  or  some  such  number, 
Renwyck's  Town.  But  I  usually  just  put  my 
letters  in  with  Mamma's." 


TEMPE  WICK  87 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Margery,  wouldn't  it  be  a  joke 
if  you  didn't  belong  here  at  all, — if  you  be- 
longed to  some  of  the  other  Morrises." 

Margery  gasped  with  indignation.  "  You 
don't  want  me  here,  Dick  Ball,  1  could  see 
that  plainly  enough  yesterday.  But*  even  if 
you  don't  want  me,  I  think  that  you  might 
be  gentleman  enough  to  behave  as  one,  and 
not  to  act  as  though  you  thought  I  was  an 
impostor  come  to  steel  the  family  spoons  I  " 

"  Very  well,"  was  Dick's  quiet  answer.  "  I 
shall  never  ask  you  anything  more — I'll  leave 
everything  to  Grandfather."  The  two  glared 
at  each  other  like  a  pair  of  angry  kittens. 

Dick  recovered  himself  first.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Margery,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

"  I'll  forgive  you,  but  I  do  get  so  tiped  of 
answering  questions  !  " 

Dick  carefully  turned  down  the  lamp,  which 
was  beginning  to  smoke.  "  All  right.  An- 
other thing, — you  were  great  the  way  you  stuck 
to  Tempe  this  afternoon,  a  real  sport.  If  you 
want  to  ride  I  can  borrow  a  saddle  for  Will- 
iam Rufus,  that's  the  sorrel  that  brought  you 
from  the  station  yesterday,  and  we  can  go  out 


88  MARGERY  MORRIS 

riding  together.  Another  thing, — we  all  try 
to  help  Deborah,  sometimes.  You  see,  she's 
old,  and  she  has  a  lot  to  do, — and  we  have 
had  such  a  heap  of  company  ever  since  she's 
been  here.  The  farmer's  wife  and  daughter 
are  supposed  to  come  in  and  help  her  every 
day, — but  they  aren't  much  good  and  we  have 
to  help  out.  We  often  help  Thomas  about 
the  yard,  too, — he's  so  tottery.  Everything 
here  but  Grandfather  is  old.  He's  really  the 
oldest,  but  he  is  spry.  Come  along,  let's  crack 
some  nuts  for  Deborah  now, — she  wants  them 
for  a  cake,  or  something." 

As  they  cracked  away  at  the  nuts,  Margery 
decided  that  Dick  had  rather  a  nice  side  to 
him,  after  all.  They  grew  confidential,  and 
discovered  that  they  liked  and  disliked  the 
same  characters  in  history  and  fiction.  When 
Margery  gravely  asserted  that,  "  Richard  the 
Third,  aside  from  his  murders,  was  a  very 
nice  man,"  Dick  laughed  so  uproariously  that 
Thomas  stuck  his  head  in  at  the  pantry  door. 

"  Laugh  and  grow  fat,"  he  beamed.  "  Dat's 
my  best  scanctification." 


CHAPTER  VI 
AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S 

"  '  Here  lies  the  body  of  Margaret  Morris, 
She  was  lovely  and  pleasant  in  this  life, 
And  in  death  she  was  mourned,'  " 

Margery  read  aloud  as  she  leaned  over  an  old 
table-tombstone  in  the  churchyard  the  next 
morning.  With  the  boys  she  had  arrived  too 
early  for  church,  and  now  they  were  filling  in 
the  time  wandering  in  the  quaint  old  grave- 
yard that  stretched  out  behind  the  little  old 
church  of  St.  Peter.  It  was  very  peaceful  and 
quiet  in  that  final  resting-place,  with  only  the 
soft  rustle  of  the  falling  leaves  and  the  distant 
pealing  of  a  church  bell  to  break  the  Sabbath 
stillness,  and  Margery  felt  sad,  with  that 
pleasant  sadness  that  comes  when  one  is 
young  and  has  nothing  to  be  unhappy  about. 
"  It  makes  you  feel  queer  to  see  your  name 
on  a  gravestone,"  she  remarked  pensively. 
"  I  wonder  if  anybody  would  ever  put  '  she 

89 


90  MARGERT  MORRIS 

was  lovely  and  pleasant  in  this  life '  on  my 
tombstone?" 

Dick  looked  dubious,  but  Benjamin  threw 
his  arms  around  Margery's  waist.  "  I  will, 
Margie,"  he  declared,  "  I  will,  and — and — I'll 
make  them  put  a  lady  with  a  trombone,  like 
this  one,  on  it,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  dropsical 
angel  blowing  the  final  trump,  carved  on  an 
old  tombstone  beside  him. 

Dick  and  Margery  glanced  at  each  other, 
and  laughed.  "  You'll  see  your  name  on 
plenty  of  stones  here,"  Dick  remarked,  idly 
scraping  with  his  knife  the  moss  from  the 
table-stone  on  which  he  was  sitting.  "  The 
whole  place  is  full  of  Morrises.  Grandfather 
belonged  to  the  Quaker  branch  of  the  family, 
but  they  are  all  descended  from  the  same  old 
Henry  Morris — he  was  one  of  the  first  govern- 
ors of  the  state,  and  he  had  a  very  pretty 
daughter  named  Margaret " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  interrupted  Margery,  "  I  re- 
member— her  husband  was  killed  fighting  a 
duel,  and  she  died  of  a  broken  heart — lots  of 
people  seem  to  have  died  of  a  broken  heart," 
she  finished,  thinking  of  Deborah's  sister. 

"  Lots,"  agreed  Dick  cheerfully.      "  Crazy 


AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S          91 

thing  to  do.  Look  here,  Margery, — the  old 
chaps  that  are  buried  here  are  Morrises,  too. 
Just  wait  until  I  finish  digging  the  moss  out 
of  these  letters — there  !  " 

"  Oh,"  cried  Margery,  leaning  over  his 
shoulder,  "  oh  I  " 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing." 

In  queer  straggling  old  letters  the  tomb- 
stone announced  that  under  its  flat  surface 
lay  sleeping  all  that  was  mortal  of  Henry  and 
Elizabeth  Morris.  Her  parents'  names.  It 
had  been  mildly  interesting  to  see  her  own 
name  carved  in  stone,  but  it  came  as  a  shock 
to  see  those  of  her  parents.  Suppose,  she 
thought  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath, 
those  names  really  did  mean  her  father  and 
mother  instead  of  some  long  ago  ancestors. 
How  could  she  stand  it  then?  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  it  occurred  to  her  that  her 
parents  must  needs  be  mortal,  and  that  some 
time  they  might  be  taken  away  from  her. 
She  had  always  thought  of  them  as  of  neces- 
sity existing  for  her  comfort  and  pleasure,  a 
duty  which  they  often  performed  with  indif- 
ferent success. 


92  MARGERY  MORRIS 

"There's  the  last  bell,"  said  Dick.  "  Stop 
staring  so  soberly  at  that  stone,  Margery,  and 
come  on." 

The  day  was  warm,  and  through  open  door 
and  window  the  autumnal  sunshine  streamed 
into '  the  dark  church.  Through  the  open 
window  across  the  aisle  Margery  could  see  the 
leaves  dropping  softly  down  from  a  scarlet 
and  gold  maple  tree,  and  a  Virginia  creeper 
glowing  against  the  dull  old  brick  of  the 
quaint  churchyard  wall.  "We  have  left  un- 
done those  things  which  we  ought  to  have  done, 
and  we  have  done  those  things  which  we 
ought  not  to  have  done,"  she  prayed  mechanic- 
ally with  the  congregation,  her  eyes  on  those 
softly  falling  leaves.  She  wished  that  she  had 
not  left  undone  so  many  things ;  if  only  she 
had  helped  her  mother  with  the  packing;  if 
only — she  had  done  so  many  things.  If  only 
she  had  not  been  so  hateful  about  staying  with 
Marie  Smythe, — of  course  they  were  all  wrong 
about  that ;  but  still  she  might  have  been 
nicer  about  it.  ... 

"  Get  up,  Margery,  get  up  !  "  whispered 
Benjamin,  anxiously.  "  Everybody's  been 
standing  up  ever  so  long." 


IF    ONLY    SHE    HAD    NOT    BEEN    SO    HATEFUL 


AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S          93 

As  Margery  scrambled  to  her  feet,  and 
joined  hastily  in  the  anthem,  she  caught  the 
eye  of  a  tall  girl  across  the  aisle,  who  smiled 
at  her  in  such  a  friendly  fashion  that  involun- 
tarily she  nodded  back.  Did  that  girl  go  to 
the  Friends'  school,  Margery  wondered  as  she 
fluttered  the  leaves  of  her  prayer-book  ;  she 
hoped  that  she  did. 

The  congregation  settled  itself  at  last  for  its 
sermon-time  nap,  and  Margery  looked  about 
her  with  interest.  She  wondered  if  the  people 
there  knew  who  she  was,  and  if  they  would 
come  up  and  speak  to  her  after  church.  She 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  they  ought  to  feel 
impressed  that  she  was  among  them.  She 
glanced  at  Dick,  sitting  bolt  upright  on  the 
bench  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  old  square 
pew,  his  arms  folded,  and  a  preternaturally 
solemn  expression  on  his  frank  face.  His 
clear  profile  was  outlined  against  the  dark 
wainscoting  of  the  wall  beyond,  and  Margery 
noted  with  surprise  how  handsome  he  looked. 
She  wished  suddenly  that  Marie  Smythe  could 
see  him  now  that  he  was  dressed  up  and  didn't 
have  on  that  dreadful  gray  sweater ;  after  all,  he 
might  be  a  cousin  of  whom  she  could  be  proud. 


94  MARGERY  MORRIS 

With  a  long,  windy  sigh,  Benjamin  put  his 
head  down  on  her  knee  and  dropped  off  to 
sleep.  With  a  new  tenderness  she  shaded  his 
eyes  with  her  prayer-book,  and  smiled  to  her- 
self as  she  noticed  the  very  clean  little  paw 
tucked  under  his  cheek.  Deborah  had  con- 
fided to  her  that  morning  with  some  amuse- 
ment the  arguments  he  had  used  against  the 
scrubbing  on  which  she  had  insisted  :  first,  he 
couldn't  wash  his  hands,  they  were  sore ; 
second,  it  was  walnut  stain,  and  wouldn't 
eome  off;  third,  it  was  the  natural  color  of 
his  skin  ;  fourth,  his  hands  weren't  dirty  at 
all,  it  was  just  a  shadow  on  them. 

After  church  there  were  many  friendly  nods 
for  Dick,  and  still  more  smiles  for  Benjamin, 
for  the  handsome,  affectionate  little  boy  was  a 
general  favorite,  but  nobody  seemed  to  pay 
much  attention  to  Margery,  to  her  surprise. 

"  Who's  your  pretty  girl,  Dick  ?  "  asked  a 
fat  man  on  the  church  porch. 

"Cousin,"  returned  Dick  with  his  usual 
laconicism. 

"Another  visitor,  eh?"  continued  the  man, 
with  what  Margery  mentally  catalogued  as  a 
"  grinny  smile." 


AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S          95 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hope  those  Baptists  are  through,"  re- 
marked Dick  as  they  got  into  the  carriage. 
"  We  have  to  wait  an  age  for  Deborah  some- 
times." 

The  Baptists  were  "  through,"  and  the 
housekeeper  was  waiting  on  the  curbstone  for 
them  as  they  drove  up.  "  Now  then,"  she 
said  gayly  as  she  settled  herself  beside  Margery 
with  Benjamin  sitting  bodkin-fashion  between 
them,  "  I  want  my  special  Sunday  treat. 
Drive  home  the  long  way,  Thomas.  It's  the 
loveliest  ride,"  she  explained,  turning  to 
Margery.  "  We  go  through  part  of  the  Sheep 
Town  woods — they  are  much  prettier  than  the 
woods  near  us.  Last  spring  when  I  first  came 
to  Renwyck's  Town — I  come  from  up  the 
state,  where  the  woods  aren't  so  fine,  you 
know, — I  thought  they  were  the  loveliest 
things  I  had  ever  seen.  Such  masses  of  pink 
and  white  bloom  as  you  would  admire  to  see, 
— laurel,  you  know.  And  then  a  little  later 
the  air  was  that  sweet  with  swamp  magnolias 
and  wild  honeysuckles.  Oh,  it  was  lovely," 
and  she  leaned  back  with  a  smile  of  reminis- 
cent pleasure. 


96  MARGERT  MORRIS 

They  jogged  along  in  a  comfortable  midday 
Sunday  silence,  broken  only  by  Dick's  point- 
ing out  to  Margery  the  objects  of  natural  in- 
terest along  the  road.  "  That,"  he  would  say, 
pointing  to  some  old  hen  that,  contentedly 
scratching  on  one  side  of  the  road,  must  needs, 
at  the  approach  of  the  carriage,  hurl  herself 
with  a  great  squawking  and  flapping  of  wings 
across  the  road  under  the  horse's  hoofs,  "  is 
an  ostrich.  They  are  quite  common  about 
here."  Or,  "  That,  Margery,"  waving  toward 
a  little  chipmunk  that  chattered  impudently 
at  them  from  the  corner  of  a  fence,  "  is  a 
camel.  See  that?  "  a  pig  roaming  at  will  in 
an  orchard,  "  well,  that's  an  elephant, — we 
must  teach  our  visitor  some  natural  history, 
Benjamin." 

"  And  that,"  said  Margery  at  last,  indicat- 
ing a  particularly  tall  and  raw-boned  horse 
that  hung  its  long  head  over  the  fence,  "  is  a 
Jersey  mosquito,  I  suppose." 

Dick  collapsed,  and  said  no  more. 

The  road  turned  into  the  woods,  winding 
between  dark  pine  trees,  and  here  and  there 
a  flame  colored  hickory,  or  scarlet  sweet 
gum.  "  Winter  is  coming  sure,"  commented 


AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S          97 

Dick  as  they  crossed  a  little  stream  of  clear, 
dark  brown  cedar-water.  "  Hear  those  birds 
— they  are  flying  south,  now.  Winter  will 
be  here  before  we  know  it, — hope  we  have 
some  decent  skating  this  year." 

"  I  wish  winter  wouldn't  come,"  lamented 
Benjamin,  "  'cause  Grandfather  always  makes 
me  wear  heavy  woolen  things,  and  they 
prickle  so.  And  I  can't  go  swimming,  or  eat 
watermelons.  I  wish  it  was  spring  coming, 
don't  you,  Deborah  ?  " 

"  Yes  indeed,  but  never  mind,  dear.  Think 
of  Thanksgiving  and  Christmas,  and  the 
mince  pies  I'm  going  to  make  you.  And 
remember,  dear,  spring  has  already  started. 
All  nature  is  getting  ready  for  it  now." 

Benjamin  peered  out  of  the  carriage  as 
though  he  expected  to  see  spring,  in  rosy 
kirtle  and  flower-garlands,  dancing  through 
the  woodland  glade.  "  Oh,  Deborah,"  he 
scoffed,  "  you're  funny." 

"  No,  I  am  not, — the  buds  have  started  on 
the  trees  already.  Just  look  at  a  lilac  bush 
carefully,  and  you'll  see.  Pull  up  a  hepatica, 
that's  the  deadest  thing  in  the  fall  that  I 
know,  and  yet,  away  down  by  the  roots,  tucked 


98  MARGERT  MORRIS 

away,  you  will  find  the  buds  all  formed  for 
spring.  Sometimes,  when  I  el  blue  and 
downhearted,  and  there  doesn't  seem  'to  be 
anything  bright  whichever  way  I  look,"  Deb- 
orah went  on,  talking  more  to  herself  than  to 
the  others,  "  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  think 
of  the  hepaticas.  It  makes  you  realize,  even 
when  life  does  seem  dead  and  hopeless,  that 
tucked  away  in  the  future  God  has  something 
bright  and  happy  waiting,  though  you  can't 
see  it  at  the  time." 

"  Like  having  you  come  and  take  care  of 
us,"  suggested  Benjamin,  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  you  nuisance,  like  you,"  and  Deb- 
orah gave  the  child  a  hug  which  he  endured 
with  a  fair  show  of  composure,  and  not  too 
much  wiggling,  as  Dick  fortunately  had  his 
back  turned  and  couldn't  see  the  indignity. 

They  came  out  of  the  woods  into  the  open 
sunlit  country,  and  Dick  announced  gran- 
diloquently, "  Behold,  Margaret  I  Behold 
the  domicile  which  Deborah  has  claimed  as 
hers." 

On  a  knoll  overlooking  the  creek  stood  a 
large  rambling  white  house,  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  elms  and  chestnut  trees.  A  beau- 


AT  OLD  ST.  PETER'S          99 

tiful  lawn,  divided  by  a  driveway  bordered 
by  elms,  "  the  last  elms  left  in  the  county/' 
Dick  explained,  rolled  up  to  the  house.  On 
the  south,  protected  from  the  north  winds  by 
the  house,  was  a  large  box-bordered  garden, 
with  here  and  there  a  late  rose  nodding 
above  the  high  hedges.  On  the  other  side 
stretched  innumerable  stables,  carriage-houses 
and  offices. 

"  I  call  it  my  house,"  laughed  Deborah, 
"  because  I  like  it  so  much  ;  it  does  me  good 
just  to  look  at  it.  I  don't  see  why  we  feel 
that  we  have  to  own  things  before  we  can 
enjoy  them.  I  can  get  lots  of  pleasure  out 
of  other  people's  pretty  curls,  and  their  hats, 
and  fine  houses." 

"  I  rode  over  here  yesterday,"  Dick  re- 
marked, "  to  see  Mr.  Morris,  but  he's  too  ill 
to  see  anybody.  It's  pretty  serious,  I  guess." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  Dick.  I  have  a 
great  admiration  for  Mr.  Morris ;  he's  one  of 
the  few  people  who  know  how  to  be  a  beau- 
tiful Christian  character  without  overdoing 
it.  They  say  that  for  all  his  wealth  there 
isn't  a  kinder,  more  unassuming  man  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  and  as  full  of  fun  as  he  can 


ioo          MERGER T  MORRIS 

be.  He  came  over  to  see  your  grandfather 
one  day  this  summer,  and  he  was  just  as  com- 
mon as  you  or  me,"  and  Deborah  sighed  sym- 
pathetically, as  she  voiced  that  bit  of  praise 
supreme  to  country  minds. 

Margery  took  a  final  look  through  the 
tiny  square  window  in  the  back  of  the  car- 
riage at  the  home  of  the  gentleman  who  knew 
how  to  be  a  beautiful  Christian  character 
"  without  overdoing  it,"  and  said  in  her  most 
superior  manner : 

"  Now,  that's  the  sort  of  place  Mamma  made 
believe  that  Grandpapa's  would  be  like,  but 
of  course  I  knew  better." 

"  Why,  Margery,"  cried  Benjamin,  indig- 
nant at  her  tone.  "  Our  house  is  lots  nicer, 
— it's  older,  and — and — and" — he  cast  about 
for  a  point  of  superiority — "  and — it's  got  a 
lots  nicer  chicken  yard.  It  has,  too,"  he 
maintained  stoutly,  as  the  rest  laughed.  "  Mr. 
Morris  said  so  hisself." 


CHAPTER  VII 

BENJIE 

AFTER  dinner  Deborah  slipped  off  to  enjoy 
her  Sunday  afternoon  nap,  and  Margery  and 
the  boys  drifted  out  to  the  front  portico.  The 
October  sun  shone  warm,  and  they  lingered 
there  on  the  steps,  idly  watching  a  squirrel 
in  the  oak  tree  across  the  driveway. 

"  I  bet  you  don't  often  see  bluer  skies  than 
this  in  California,  Margery,"  remarked  Dick 
with  a  sigh  of  contentment,  as  he  settled 
himself  with  his  back  against  one  of  the 
pillars. 

"  Not  often,"  Margery  admitted.  "  Oh,  just 
look, — that  squirrel  is  coming  down  the  tree  I 
Isn't  it  cunning?  " 

Benjamin  extracted  from  his  pocket  the 
battered  remains  of  the  crackers  with  which 
he  had  fortified  himself  against  any  possible 
pangs  of  hunger  during  church-time,  and 
stealing  softly  toward  the  tree,  crouched  on 
one  knee,  with  the  cracker-crumbs  held  tempt- 

101 


102          M4RGERT  MORRIS 

ingly  in  his  outstretched  hand.  The  squirrel 
stood  still,  its  tail  neatly  folded  against  its 
back,  and  its  tiny  nose  quivering  with  excite- 
ment. At  last,  apparently  satisfied  that  Ben- 
jamin was  quite  harmless,  it  dropped  down  on 
all  four  little  paws,  and  crept  nearer  to  the 
alluring  crumbs.  Suddenly  it  paused,  turned, 
and  with  a  startled  whisk  of  its  tail,  darted 
up  the  tree. 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry  I  startled  the  little  chap," 
came  a  voice  from  behind  the  shrubbery  bed 
on  the  right,  and  Sam  Bennet  appeared.  "  I 
didn't  see  what  you  were' doing  until  I  got  up 
close,  or  I  should  have  waited." 

"  Sam,  this  is  my  very  own  cousin  Mar- 
gery, and  she's  going  to  live  with  us  all  win- 
ter," announced  Benjamin,  assuming  the  du- 
ties of  master  of  ceremonies.  "  Margie,  this 
is  Sam  Bennet,  Dick's  per-per-per-tikler 
frie-nd." 

Sam  laughed  and  held  out  his  hand.  Mar- 
gery recognized  him  as  the  boy  who  had 
walked  over  her  feet  at  the  station  on  the 
day  of  her  arrival,  and  her  greeting  was  cor- 
respondingly reproving,  but  Sam's  smile  was 
so  friendly  and  unconscious,  and  his  bow  and 


BEN J  IE  103 

hand-shake  so  polite,  that  she  relented  and 
made  room  for  him  beside  her  on  the  step. 

Sam,  who  knew  but  little  of  the  meaning 
of  the  word  "  shyness,"  sat  down  beside  her, 
and  at  once  began  a  rattling  account  of  the 
trip  he  had  made  the  day  before  to  the  city 
with  his  much  idolized  young  uncle.  "  It 
was  fine,"  he  laughed,  "  and  I  had  a  peach  of 
a  time,  until  about  three  o'clock,  when  Uncle 
Jack  insisted  on  going  to  an  afternoon  con- 
cert. He  said  he  had  promised  to  go,  so  as  to 
hear  the  fiance'e  of  one  of  his  friends  sing. 
Well,  I  was  big  enough  goat  to  go,  too.  It 
was  awful,"  and  Sam  groaned  tragically,  "one 
of  these  highfaluting,  tra-la-la  affairs.  The 
only  part  that  I  enjoyed  was  when  a  great 
big  fat  woman, — she  must  have  weighed  at 
least  two  hundred — sang,  in  a  way-high-up 
soprano,  '  I-  am  a  butterfly,  perched  on  a 


rose ! ' 


Margery,  who  liked  mentally  to  catalogue 
and  label  people,  decided  that  Sam  himself, 
with  his  rosy  cheeks,  short  neck,  and  wide 
shoulders  looked  like  an  apple  on  a  mantel- 
piece, but  she  liked  him  and  considered  him 
far  more  mannerly  than  Dick.  Sam  had 


104          MARGERT  MORRIS 

four  sisters,  two  maiden  aunts,  and  several 
girl  cousins,  and  had  not  only  achieved  but 
had  thrust  upon  him  more  polish  and  urban- 
ity than  had  the  other  lads  whose  sister-less, 
aunt-less,  cousin-less  state  he  envied. 

All  too  soon  for  Margery  the  conversa- 
tion strayed  toward  football.  Feeling  rather 
bored,  she  slipped  away  to  the  library  to  write 
the  Sunday  afternoon  letter,  which  she  had 
promised,  rather  indifferently,  to  send  to  her 
father  and  mother  every  week.  There  was 
much  to  tell  them  :  the  trip  across  the  con- 
tinent, which  Margery  had  found  wearisome  ; 
the  illness  of  Mr.  Van  Pelt's  granddaughter ; 
and  her  own  arrival  at  Renwyck's  Town ; 
her  grandfather's  absence,  and  Deborah  and 
the  boys.  She  sat  down  intending  to  make 
her  letter  reproachfully  dignified,  to  make 
quite  clear,  without  saying  so  in  so  many 
words,  the  unhappy  situation  into  which  they 
had  forced  her,  and  to  paint  the  contrasting 
picture  of  how  happy  and  well-cared  for  she 
would  have  been  if  she  had  been  allowed  to 
remain  in  the  company  of  Marie  Smythe,  in 
the  most  glowing  colors.  But  as  she  spread 
out  her  paper,  and  dipped  her  pen  in  the 


BEN J  IE  105 

queer  old  inkstand  made  from  half  a  can- 
non-ball, she  felt  again  as  she  had  felt  that 
morning  in  the  quiet  old  church. 

She  regretted  those  hours  of  parting,  when 
coldly  and  reproachfully  she  had  said  farewell, 
and  regarded  so  condescendingly  the  tears  that 
would  roll  down  her  mother's  cheeks. 

She  dipped  her  pen  again  in  the  ink  and 
began  : 

"  Dear  Papa  and  Mamma.  I  am  sorry  I 
was  horrid  when  I  came  away.  I  don't  like 
it  a  bit  here.  Aunt  Margaret's  boys  are  here, 
too,  and  Dick  is  not  especially  agreeable,  and 
he  is  very  stuck-up  about  his  riding,  but  I 
try  to  make  the  best  of  things.  Grandpapa 
is  away,  somewhere  up  in  Canada,  and  the 
housekeeper  runs  things  in  a  way  that  isn't 
especially  good  form,  but  I  think  that  you 
would  like  her  because  she  has  such  a  cheer- 
ful heart.  But  I  wouldn't  mind  things 
if  only  you  were  here.  I  want  to  see  you 
so  much, — oh,  Mamma  dear,  I  miss  you  so, 
and  I'd  just  give  anything  to  hear  Papa 
laugh " 

Her  pen  slipped  and  made  a  blot,  and  a  big 
tear  rolled  down  beside  her  hose  and  fell  on 


io6         MARGERT  MORRIS 

the  blot  as  if  to  wash  it  out.  With  some- 
thing very  like  a  moan,  she  put  her  head 
down  on  her  stiff  little  epistle  and  began  to 
cry.  Benjamin,  who  had  followed  her  in 
from  the  portico  and  who  had  been  busily 
engaged  in  catching  flies  on  the  window-pane, 
slipped  out  of  the  room  to  the  boys. 

"  Margery's  crying,"  he  announced  in  an 
awed  whisper.  "  My,  but  she  looks  funny." 

Dick  quietly  entered  the  library,  and  put- 
ting his  hand  on  Margery's  heaving  shoulder, 
said,  "  Come  on,  Marge,  leave  the  letter  until 
evening  and  we  will  take  a  walk.  Perhaps 
the  frost  the  other  night  was  enough  to  ripen 
the  persimmons." 

"  W-what  a-a-are  persim-mons  ? "  gulped 
Margery,  in  a  desperate  effort  to  appear  at 
ease,  and  to  act  as  though  wildly  sobbing 
with  one's  head  in  the  ink-well  were  a  usual 
Sunday  afternoon  relaxation. 

"  Great  Scott, — don't  you  know  ?  Come  on 
then.  Here,  take  my  cricket  blazer, — it's  get- 
ting cooler.  We'll  go  over  the  back  meadow 
and  you  won't  see  a  soul,  so  never  mind 
prinking." 

Without  a  word,  Margery  obediently  donned 


BEN J  IE  107 

the  red  and  orange  striped  blazer,  and  choked 
back  her  tears  as  best  she  could.  She  wasn't 
going  to  have  "  that  boy  "  see  her  cry  I 

As  they  walked  across  the  meadow  in 
silence,  Dick  absorbed  in  stripping  a  willow- 
wand  of  its  bark,  and  Margery  lost  in  her 
thoughts,  a>*toud  whistle  made  them  turn. 
Sam  and  Benjamin  were  hurrying  toward 
them,  waving  to  them  to  wait. 

"  Well,"  grumbled  Sam,  as  he  caught  up, 
"  of  all  the  cool  things  I  To  go  off  calmly  and 
eat  up  all  the  persimmons  without  saying  a 
word  to  anybody.  But  you  didn't  fool  us, — 
we  knew  what  you  were  up  to  when  we  saw 
you  heading  in  this  direction  I  If  Miss 
Morris  will  allow  it,"  and  Sam  courteously 
looked  at  the  sky,  and  the  trees,  and  a  distant 
cow,  anywheres  but  at  Miss  Morris's  tear- 
stained  cheeks  and  red-rimmed  eyes,  "  this 
humble  personage  would  fain  accompany  her 
to  gather  the  aforesaid  delicious  fruit." 

Dick  laughed.  "  All  right,  we'll  give  him 
the  first  green  one  we  find,  won't  we,  Margery  ?  " 

Unfortunately,  Margery,  to  whom  persim- 
mons were  a  novelty,  picked  the  first  green 
one. 


io8          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Ha !  Ha  1 "  shouted  Benjamin.  "  She  looks 
as  though  she  had  a  drawing-string  tied  round 
her  mouth  !  Have  another  one,  Margie,  do  1  " 

But  Margery,  declaring  that  it  would  take 
the  rest  of  the  day  to  get  her  mouth  un- 
puckered,  declined  to  take  any  further  inter- 
est in  persimmons,  and  wandered  on  toward 
the  creek.  Here  the  boys  pointed  out  the 
swimming-hole,  and  showed  her  the  diving- 
board  they  had  made.  Benjamin  ran  to  the 
end  of  it,  inviting  her  to  "  come  and  see  how 
nice  it  is." 

Not  to  be  outdone  in  grace  and  agility, 
Margery  ran  out  to  the  end  of  the  narrow, 
slippery  board,  and  together  she  and  Ben- 
jamin bounced  it  up  and  down. 

"  Hasn't  it  a  dandy  spring  ? "  Benjamin 
exulted.  "  Just  look  at  me,  Margery  !  " 

But  alas,  he  gave  a  too  vigorous  jump,  and 
after  balancing  a  moment  with  outstretched 
arms,  he  made  a  desperate  clutch  at  Margery 
and  they  struck  the  water  with  a  splash. 

Margery  had  been  carefully  taught  to  swim 
in  a  swimming-pool,  and  as  she  rose  to  the 
surface  she  struck  out  for  the  shore.  But  she 
found  the  cold  creek  a  different  matter  from 


BEN J IE  109 

the  marble  tank,  her  wet  skirts  were  heavy 
and  in  the  way,  and  there  was  no  swimming- 
master  to  count  encouragingly,  "  One,  two, 
thr-r-ree,  one,  two,  thr-r-ree." 

Despairingly,  she  reached  out,  her  hands 
encountered  Benjamin's  curls,  and  grabbing 
them  wildly,  she  pulled  him  under  with  her. 

After  what  seemed  an  eternity  a  distant 
voice  somewhere  beyond  the  rush  of  waters 
seemed  to  say,  "  You're  all  right.  I've  got 
you,  and  Sam's  got  the  kid." 

A  moment  later  she  and  Dick  were  stand- 
ing, wet  and  shivering,  on  the  bank,  where 
Sam  and  Benjamin  were  already  shaking 
themselves  like  a  pair  of  huge  Newfoundland 
dogs. 

"  Well,"  laughed  Sam,  "  what  were  you 
two  kids  trying  to  do  ?  Show  off?  Come  on 
now,  you'll  have  to  leg  it,  or  you'll  get  a  cold. 
Scoot !  " 

He  grasped  one  of  Margery's  hands,  Dick 
took  the  other,  and  they  started  off  on  a  run 
for  the  house,  Benjamin  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Regardless  of  Deborah's  clean  kitchen  and 
immaculate  hall,  through  the  house  they  ran, 
dripping  water  as  they  went. 


I io         MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Gracious,"  cried  Deborah,  appearing  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  one  shoe  on,  and 
agitatedly  trying  to  smooth  her  disheveled 
hair  with  the  other.  "  Is  anybody  hurt  ? 
What  has  happened?  You've  just  fallen  in 
the  creek  ?  Thank  goodness,  if  that's  all  I 
Oh,  Margery,  are  you  injured?  " 

Startled,  they  all  turned  and  gazed  at 
Margery.  Margery  herself  gave  a  scream  as 
she  discovered  streaks  of  red  running  down 
over  her  white  serge  froek.  Dick  shouted 
with  laughter.  "  Cheer  up,  Marge,"  he  cried, 
"  it  isn't  gore,  it's  only  the  red  from  my 
blazer  I  " 

"  Oh,"  and  Deborah  laughed  with  relief, 
"  if  that's  all  we  can  make  the  best  of  it. 
Now  go  change  your  clothes  at  once.  You'll 
have  to  lend  some  to  Sam,  Dick.  Better 
let  him  have  that  gray  suit.  Don't  stand 
there  shivering,  Margery,  and  come,  Benja- 
min,— I  hope  you  don't  get  your  death  of 
croup." 

Margery  felt  a  little  chilly  from  her  im- 
promptu dip,  even  after  she  had  changed 
her  clothes,  and  her  wet  hair  had  been  well 
dried  before  the  kitchen  fire,  so  after  supper 


BEN J IE  1 1 1 

Dick  built  a  fire  of  pine-knots  in  the  library 
fireplace,  and  the  young  people  settled  them- 
selves with  their  books  to  enjoy  its  glow. 
Benjamin  stretched  himself  out  on  the  hearth- 
rug with  a  battered  volume  before  him,  from 
which  he  read  to  himself,  half  aloud,  with  the 
absurd  mouthings  of  the  beginner  at  reading. 
With  a  sudden  little  nervous  pang,  Margery 
looked  down  at  him,  lying  there  so  rosy  in  the 
firelight.  Suppose  she  had  pulled  him  down 
when  she  clutched  his  curls  so  wildly  in  that 
cold  creek ;  suppose  that  now  he  were  lying 
all  white  and  still ;  suppose, — it  made  her  feel 
very  uncomfortable,  and  Margery  hated  to  be 
made  to  feel  uncomfortable.  With  a  shudder 
she  leaned  over  him. 

" '  Aha,  my  men,' "  he  was  reading  in  a 
whisper,  "  '  Aha,  my  — — '  (Dick,  what  does 
h-e-a-r-t-i-e-s  spell  ?  Oh  !)  '  Aha-my-hearties- 

are-you >'  (Margery,  what  does  c-o-w-a-r-d-s 

spell  ?  Oh  !)  '  Are-you-cowards-I-will-do-the- 
brave-deed ' " 

"  What  are  you  reading,  Benjamin  ?  Let 
me  see  it." 

Benjamin  rolled  over  on  his  back  like  a 
lazy  kitten,  and  obediently  handed  the  grimy 


ii2          MARGERT  MORRIS 

volume  to  Margery.  As  she  took  it,  Margery 
shuddered  even  more  than  she  had  done  at 
the  thought  of  Benjamin's  possible  watery 
grave,  and  carefully  held  it  by  the  extreme 
tips  of  her  fingers.  It  was  a  book  far  too  old 
for  him,  which  he  had  borrowed  from  another 
boy  at  the  price  of  three  nearly  new  wire- 
nails,  and  a  spent  tennis-ball ;  one  of  those 
remarkable  publications  on  which  so  many 
youthful  minds  are  fed,  in  which  incredibly 
brave  and  wise  boys  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  per- 
form deeds  on  land  and  sea,  in  the  air,  and 
the  waters  under  the  sea,  such  as  mortal  never 
essayed  before.  And  not  only  do  they  accom- 
plish these  marvels,  but  as  a  side  issue  they 
foil  an  unbelievably  wicked  villain ;  win  the 
gratitude  of  a  middle-aged  admiral  or  general 
for  teaching  him  his  business ;  rescue  a  start- 
lingly  beautiful  maiden,  and  restore  her  lost 
millions  to  her;  all  with  an  airy  nonchalance 
overwhelming  to  contemplate. 

"  I  think,"  said  Margery,  as  with  fastid- 
iously upturned  nose  she  gingerly  turned  the 
torn  leaves,  "  that  I  have  a  nicer  book  up- 
stairs. It's  cleaner,  at  any  rate.  Wait  a  min- 
ute, I'll  go  up  and  get  it.  And,"  she  hesitated, 


BEN J  IE  113 

then  went  bravely  on,  "  I'll  read  to  you, — for 
a  little  while." 

Benjamin  scrambled  up,  all  eagerness. 
"Will  you,  Margie?  Goody,  it's  awful  hard 
work — I  have  to  spell  out  so  many  words." 

The  Jungle  Book  appealed  to  Margery  as 
the  most  suitable  among  the  books  her  mother 
had  insisted  on  packing,  and  when  she  and 
Benjamin  were  cozily  settled  on  the  old  hair- 
cloth sofa  before  the  fire,  she  began  the  story 
of  Rikki-tikki-tavi. 

As  the  reading  commenced,  Benjamin  sat 
bolt  upright,  with  his  brow  knitted  in  a  very 
grown-up  manner  copied  from  Dick,  but  little 
by  little  he  crept  closer  and  closer  to  Margery, 
and  at  last  snuggled  his  head  down  on  her 
shoulder  like  the  little  boy  he  really  was.  In 
her  heart,  Margery  was  tired  and  homesick, 
and  his  nearness  was  comforting ;  she  slipped 
her  arm  around  him  and  leaned  her  face  down 
on  his  curly  pate  with  a  half-formed  wish  that 
she,  too,  had  a  little  brother.  Tick,  tock,  tick, 
tock,  droned  the  tall  old  clock  in  the  corner, 
and  with  each  swing  of  the  pendulum  a  little 
more  sweetness,  a  little  more  womanliness 
crept  into  Margery's  nature,  although  she  read 


114         MARGERY  MORRIS 

on  all  unknowing,  unconscious  as  people  are 
in  those  quiet  big  moments  of  their  lives.  The 
backlog  fell  with  a  shower  of  sparks,  and 
Margery,  finishing  one  of  the  few  unselfish 
deeds  of  her  life,  closed  the  book  with  a  bang. 

"  That's  the  very  end  of  the  story,  honey. 
And  it's  lucky  that  it  is,  for  my  voice  is  used 
up." 

"  Bed,  Benjie,"  announced  Deborah,  appear- 
ing at  the  door  at  that  moment. 

Benjamin  yawned,  and  slid  down  from  the 
sofa.  "  Oh,  Deborah,  I'm  not  a  bit  sleepy,  and 

I  don't  have  to  go  to  bed  yet,  I "  The 

rest  of  the  words  were  lost  in  another  yawn. 

"  Come  along,  young  man." 

Recognizing  the  inevitable,  Benjamin  met 
it  manfully.  "  All  right  then,  I'll  go  up, — 
and  you  needn't  come,  Deborah,  until  I  call 
you  to  put  out  the  lamp."  He  stopped  before 
Margery  on  his  way  to  the  door,  and  throwing 
his  arms  around  her  neck,  planted  a  kiss 
squarely  between  her  nose  and  her  left  ear. 
"  Well,  I  don't  care,"  he  said  defiantly  to  Sam 
and  Dick,  over  his  shoulder,  "  I'm  glad  Mar- 
gery has  come,  for  I  love  her  awful  much  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SCHOOL 

IT  was  cold  and  rainy  the  next  morning 
when  Margery  woke  to  find  Deborah  stand- 
ing by  her  bedside. 

"  Come,  dear,"  said  the  housekeeper,  open- 
ing the  shutters,  "it  is  half-past  six.  You 
had  better  get  up,  if  you  feel  that  you  want 
to  go  to  school  to-day." 

With  a  final  word  as  to  the  advisability  of 
a  warm  frock,  Deborah  left  the  room,  and 
Margery,  drawing  the  bedclothes  closer  under 
her  chin,  cuddled  down  deeper  in  the  snug 
hollow  under  the  covers.  She  did  not  feel  at 
all  like  getting  up ;  her  back  ached,  her  neck 
was  stiff,  and  she  had  a  bad  cold  in  her 
head. 

"  I  can't  get  up,"  she  whimpered  softly. 
"  I'm  tired  and  I've  got  a  cold.  Mamma 
would  never  let  me  go  out  on  a  day  like 
this." 

115 


n6          MARGERY  MORRIS 

Her  aching  eyelids  closed,  and  she  drowsed 
off  again. 

A  tremendous  bang  at  the  door  awoke  her 
with  a  start. 

"  I  say,  Margery,"  Dick's  voice  came  through 
the  panels,  "  aren't  you  ready  yet?  We've 
eaten  most  of  the  hot  cakes." 

With  a  bound  Margery  landed  on  the  floor. 

"  Yes,  Dick — I'm  almost  dressed." 

Her  truth-loving  nature  aghast  at  the  fib 
she  had  just  involuntarily  uttered,  she  scurried 
around  to  make  it  a  fact.  Dashing  frantically 
into  her  clothes,  she  smoothed  back  her  curls 
with  a  few  vigorous  strokes  of  the  brush, 
stuck  her  face  into  a  basin  of  cold  water,  and 
ran  down  the  stairs,  tying  the  silk  scarf  of  her 
blue  serge  sailor  suit  as  she  went. 

The  scramble  set  her  blood  going,  and  the 
glow  lasted  until  breakfast  was  over  and  she 
was  well  down  the  road  with  the  boys  on  the 
way  to  school.  It  had  stopped  raining,  but 
the  sun  had  not  succeeded  in  pushing  its  way 
through  the  clouds,  and  where  their  path  led 
through  the  woods  the  air  seemed  icy  cold, 
and  every  breath  of  wind  sent  a  spatter  of 
raindrops  down  from  the  dripping  trees.  The 


SCHOOL  117 

sandy  road  was  wet  and  heavy,  and  the  chil- 
dren trudged  along  in  silence.  Dick  was  try- 
ing to  study  his  history  lesson,  and  walked 
along  with  his  eyes  on  his  open  book.  Ben- 
jamin lagged  behind  looking  for  chincapins 
and  gathering  pine-cones  to  throw  at  the 
chipmunks  that  scampered  along  the  tops  of 
the  worm  fences.  Margery  felt  chilly  and 
miserable,  and  wished  that  she  had  not  stood 
out  so  obstinately  against  Dick's  suggestions 
at  the  breakfast  table  that  she  postpone  her 
school  career  until  his  grandfather  came  home. 
Several  times  she  was  on  the  verge  of  announc- 
ing that  she  would  give  up  the  idea  of  school 
for  the  present,  and  of  turning  back  to  the 
house,  where  at  least  she  could  be  warm,  and 
possibly  amused  ;  but  the  dread  thought  that 
the  following  winter  when  she  returned  to 
Miss  Spencer's  she  might  .have  to  drop  back 
into  a  class  below  Marie  Smythe  and  her  circle 
gave  her  courage.  Besides,  Margery  was  not 
a  shirker,  and  once  having  set  out  to  ac- 
complish a  thing  it  was  seldom  that  she 
turned  back  before  the  end  was  gained. 

"  Well,  it's  no  use,"  Dick  declared  after  he 
had  zigzagged  off  the  path  into  a  burr-patch, 


n8         MARGERT  MORRIS 

"I'll  just  have  to  bluff  history  to-day,"  and 
he  closed  his  history  book  with  a  bang.  "  Are 
you  sure,"  stooping  to  pull  off  some  dried 
burrs  sticking  to  his  ankle,  "  that  you  really 
want  to  begin  school  to-day — sure  you  hadn't 
better  wait  ?  " 

Her  secret  falterings  sharpened  the  edge  to 
her  voice  as  she  replied,  "  Of  course  I  want  to 
begin  school  now." 

"  All  right,  then, — I  suppose  I  had  better 
take  you  to  the  principal,  and  you  can  make 
your  little  speech  to  him." 

They  had  reached  the  town  by  this  time, 
and  a  few  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  the 
school.  Renwyck's  Town  was  one  of  the  last 
strongholds  of  the  old  American  life,  changing 
now  so  rapidly  under  the  influx  of  new  people 
and  new  ideals.  Settled  before  the  coming  of 
Penn  to  Pennsylvania  by  a  little  band  of  Eng- 
lish Quakers  who  sought  in  the  New  World 
the  life  of  their  Vision,  added  to  a  few  years 
later  by  another  group,  Church  of  England 
people,  who,  being  made  welcome,  gave  their 
share  to  its  well-being,  the  little  town  still  re- 
tained in  the  twentieth  century  some  of  the 
dignity  and  simplicity  of  that  earlier  life.  In 


SCHOOL  119 

the  Friends'  School,  the  only  private  school 
in  the  town,  the  old  ideas  and  ideals  of  those 
first  Quaker  settlers  still  found  expression. 

The  school  building  itself,  like  most  of 
Renwyck's  Town,  was  old  ;  a  square,  red,  box- 
like  affair.  A  high  whitewashed  fence  en- 
closed the  school  and  protected  it  from  the 
profane  gaze  of  the  rare  passer-by.  The 
young  people  from  the  Morris  farm  turned  in 
between  the  gate-posts,  and  Dick  led  the  way 
up  a  short  flight  of  stone  steps,  worn  into  hol- 
lows by  the  restless  feet  of  five  generations  of 
school  children,  and  knocked  at  a  door 
marked  "  Office." 

The  rather  stern  old  Quaker  principal  was 
busily  slipping  into  his  overcoat  and  gather- 
ing up  various  papers  preparatory  to  hurrying 
off  to  the  city  where  he  was  to  address  an 
educational  meeting,  as  Dick  and  Margery 
entered.  With  an  absent-minded  air  he 
listened  to  their  explanations,  but  he  smiled 
kindly  as  he  said,  "  Thy  grandfather's  grand- 
daughter is  welcome  here.  Just  hand  me  that 
portfolio,  will  thee  please,  Dick?  Thee  says 
thee's  fifteen,  Margaret  ?  Oh,  just  fourteen. 
Well,  Dick,  I  think  that  thee  had  better  take 


120          MARGERT  MORRIS 

her  to  Teacher  Rachel,"  and  putting  on  his 
broad-brimmed  Quaker  hat,  he  hurried  off. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Dick,  and  Margery,  her 
spirits  having  revived  in  the  warm  school- 
house,  skipped  nonchalantly  up  the  stairs  back 
of  him,  all  unconscious  that  she  was  entering 
upon  the  most  galling  and  unhappy  days  of 
her  short  life.  There  was  nothing  about  the 
big  many-windowed  room  to  suggest  that  it 
was  a  Valley  of  Humiliation  ;  yet  for  poor 
Margery,  from  the  moment  that  she  crossed 
its  threshold  and  dipped  a  graceful  curtsey 
to  Teacher  Rachel,  and  a  faint  but  unmistak- 
able snicker  had  rippled  over  the  class  of  boys 
and  girls,  life  there  became  something  to  be 
lived  through  with  clenched  teeth  and 
tightened  lips,  and  if  the  truth  were  told,  often 
with  tear-brimmed  eyes. 

In  her  own  school  she  had  held  a  con- 
spicuous place,  her  grace  and  beauty  had  been 
made  much  of,  and  she  had  moved  in  a  happy 
vacuum  whence  all  but  the  homage  given  to 
her  father's  wealth  and  her  mother's  social 
gifts  had  been  withdrawn.  Here  and  there, 
some  daring  and  anarchistic  spirit  had  dubbed 
her  "  stuck-up,"  but  to  the  rest  of  Miss 


SCHOOL  121 

Spencer's  pupils  she  was  "  exclusive,"  and  her 
smiles  and  favors  eagerly  sought,  and  her  in- 
timates envied.  It  was  not  pure  good-nature, 
as  Mr.  Morris  perfectly  well  recognized,  which 
led  the  ambitious  mother  of  Marie  Smythe  to 
urge  that  Margery  spend  the  winter  under  her 
care,  but  other  considerations  which  made  her 
long  to  wear  this  choice  rose  in  her  button- 
hole, as  it  were. 

But  Margery  Morris  at  Miss  Spencer's  and 
Margery  Morris  arriving  a  stranger,  "  un- 
honored  and  unsung,"  at  the  Friends'  School, 
Renwyck's  Town,  seemed  to  be  two  different 
people.  In  vain  she  let  the  glories  of  her  life 
at  home  be  known  to  her  schoolmates.  Was 
she,  indeed,  the  daughter  of  a  successful  and 
prominent  man  in  the  West?  She  was  also 
the  granddaughter  of  old  Mr.  Morris  in  the 
East,  with  whom  their  grandmothers  and 
grandfathers  had  gone  to  school,  and  known 
all  their  lives,  and  who  they  themselves  knew 
to  be  a  worthy  man,  but  a  most  eccentric  one, 
much  given  to  disputes  with  neighbors  over 
boundary  fences. 

Not  that  her  schoolmates  disliked  Margery, 
harder  to  bear  by  far,  they  merely  considered 


122          MARGERY  MORRIS 

her  a  joke.  To  them,  as  to  the  rustic  or 
youthful  mind  so  often,  what  was  unusual  ap- 
peared to  be  comic ;  Margery's  style  and 
manner  was  different  from  anything  that  they 
had  ever  known  before,  therefore,  it  was 
ludicrous.  Her  graceful  curtseys  were  thought 
to  be  a  highly  entertaining  piece  of  affectation, 
and  her  "  English  accent,"  carefully  drilled 
into  her  by  a  teacher  from  Chicago,  was  re- 
garded as  the  acme  of  the  ridiculous.  What 
damsel  so  dull  that  she  could  not  pass  for 
witty  by  saying  languidly,  "  Ahmaandah, 
please  pahss  me  the  rubbah  ";  or  what  boy  so 
lumpish  and  uninteresting  that  he  could  not 
shine  in  the  girls'  eyes  by  a  cautiously  ex- 
ecuted curtsey  behind  Teacher  Rachel's  back  ? 
Not  that  they  were  really  spiteful,  or  meant 
to  be  unkind  ;  but  they  were  young  and 
thoughtless,  with  that  peculiar  light-hearted 
cruelty  of  youth,  and  they  were  carried  away 
by  their  own  wit.  Indeed,  most  of  them 
could  have  said  with  Lady  Teazle,  "  When 
I  say  an  ill-natured  thing,  it  is  from  pure 
good  nature." 

Margery  held  her  head  higher  and  looked 
haughtier  than  ever,  and  told  herself  that  she 


SCHOOL  123 

did  not  care  what  a  "  parcel  of  country 
bumpkins  "  said,  or  did.  And  the  "  country 
bumpkins,"  meeting  her  cold  glances  and  un- 
gracious manner,  in  turn  revenged  themselves 
by  wilfully  neglecting  her,  and  so  the  gap  be- 
tween them  grew  wider  and  wider.  However 
superior  one  may  feel,  it  is  not  pleasant  at 
fourteen  to  sit  by  a  window  feigning  a  deep 
interest  in  the  boys'  football  practice  in  the 
school-yard  below,  while  across  the  room  a 
group  of  happy  girls  spend  their  recess  perched 
on  their  desks,  chattering  like  the  happiest  of 
birds,  and  sharing  those  delightfully  sticky 
cinnamon  buns  dear  to  schoolgirl  hearts. 
The  more  she  told  herself  that  she  did  not 
care,  the  more  she  did  care ;  she  had  to  admit 
to  herself  that  they  were  a  likable  lot  of  young 
people,  and  that  she  should  be  glad  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  them. 

It  was  mortifying,  too,  to  have  Dick  see 
her  humiliation,  and  to  suspect  that  the  sud- 
denly improved  behavior  of  several  young 
gentlemen  had  been  effected  by  Dick  and 
Sam,  and  the  school  pump. 

Only  in  Deborah,  who  suspected  so  much 
of  how  things  were  going  at  school,  and 


124          MARGERT  MORRIS 

wisely  said  so  little,  did  she  find  comfort ; 
and  in  Benjamin,  who  lavished  his  affection 
upon  her  and  paid  her  tribute  with  the  dear- 
est of  his  treasures :  a  dried  hoptoad,  a  ball 
of  putty,  a  carved  peach  stone,  a  lame  chicken, 
several  arrow-heads,  and  an  electric  torch  that 
had  neither  bulb  nor  batteries. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  to  make  friends  with 
Polly  Jameson,  Margery  ? "  suggested  Dick 
as  they  walked  to  school  together  on  Friday 
morning  ;  "  she's  got  more  sense  than  all  the 
rest  of  the  girls  put  together.  She's  the 
most  popular  girl  in  the  school,  too  ;  all  the 
girls  think  she's  '  simply  perfect '  " — Dick 
minced  affectedly  in  what  he  took  to  be  a 
girl's  voice — "  and  all  the  boys  like  her,  too," 
he  finished  more  naturally.  "  She  looked  at 
you  last  Sunday  as  though  she  would  like  to 
know  you.  Funny,  everybody  likes  Polly." 

Margery  hung  her  head  and  did  not  an- 
swer. She  knew  in  her  heart  of  hearts  that 
she  might  have  had  Polly  Jameson  as  her 
friend  and  champion  if  she  had  not  snubbed 
her  so  unmercifully  that  first  morning  at 
school,  when  Polly,  all  smiles  and  blushes, 
had  come  forward  to  meet  her  and  to  make 


SCHOOL  125 

her  welcome.  Margery  had  liked  her  appear- 
ance when  she  had  first  seen  her  in  church, 
and  had  thought  that  if  Polly  went  to  the 
Friends'  School  she  might  be  a  pleasant  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  accustomed  as  she  was  to 
being  courted,  Margery  had  felt  that  she  was 
the  one  to  make  the  advances.  Accordingly, 
she  had  found  Polly's  eager  friendliness  pre- 
mature, and  had  treated  her  with  a  politeness 
so  freezing  that  the  other  girl,  who  was  proud 
and  sensitive,  made  no  further  attempts  at 
cordiality. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  making  friends  with 
Polly  ? "  prodded  Dick  as  Margery  did  not 
answer. 

"  I'll — I'll  try,"  mumbled  Margery,  meekly. 
"  Why,  there  she  is  now." 

Tall,  and  as  she  herself  expressed  it, 
"  skinny  as  an  umbrella  rib,"  Polly  carried 
herself  with  a  certain  air  of  energy  and  inde- 
pendence that  was  decidedly  attractive.  She 
had  a  good  square  chin  and  a  rather  long 
nose,  just  now  very  much  sunburnt  at  the 
tip.  Her  chief  claim  to  beauty  lay  in  her 
sparkling  brown  eyes,  which  she  herself 
scorned.  (All  her  favorite  heroines  boasted 


i26          MARGERY  MORRIS 

large,  languid,  forget-me-not  blue  orbs.) 
Her  thick  black  hair  alone  pleased  her,  and 
of  that  she  was  rather  vain.  She  usually 
wore  it  braided  into  a  long  pigtail,  which  to 
emphasize  its  length  was  ornamented  at  the 
extreme  tip  by  a  flaunting  scarlet  bow. 

When  Margery  entered  the  cloak  room, 
Polly  was  standing  before  the  mirror,  trying 
with  much  twisting  to  see  the  back  of  her 
waist.  "  You  poor  fish,"  she  was  muttering 
wrathfully  to  herself,  "  you  are  a  sight,  with 
all  those  safety  pins  showing  in  your  belt 
and  nary  a  belt  ribbon  to  cover  them, — you 
can't  go  up-stairs  looking  like  that." 

Margery  hesitated  a  moment ;  should  she 
attempt  to  make  friends  with  Polly  now  ? 
Something  told  her  to  try,  and  she  stepped 
forward  with  a  new  timidity.  "  You've  lost 
your  belt  ribbon,  haven't  you  ? "  she  began. 

"  Oh,"  shrieked  Polly,  wheeling  around 
wild-eyed.  "  Mercy,"  she  laughed,  as  she  saw 
Margery,  "  you  did  startle  me, — do  forgive  me 
for  yelling  at  you  like  that!  I  didn't  hear 
you  come  in.  I've  a  crazy  habit  of  talking 
to  myself, — -just  like  our  old  colored  cook. 
Yes,  I've  forgotten  to  put  on  my  belt  ribbon, 


SCHOOL  127 

and   I    won't    have    time    to    go   home    for 


one." 


"  I  can  help  you,  I  think,"  said  Margery 
eagerly.  "  I  can  perfectly  well  get  along 
without  my  hair  ribbon,  and  it  will  do  for\a 
makeshift  belt, — fortunately,  it's  black,  so 
that  it  won't  show  so  much." 

Polly  looked  at  Margery's  flushed,  eager 
face,  evidently  puzzled.  What  had  suddenly 
come  over  this  cold,  distant  stranger  with  the 
somewhat  affected  manner  and  haughty  airs  ? 
Suddenly  Polly  smiled,  a  friendly,  under- 
standing smile.  "  You're  a  jewel,"  she  said 
heartily.  "  If  you're  sure  that  you  can  spare 
the  ribbon,  I  should  appreciate  it  ever  so  much." 

Together  they  untied  Margery's  hair  ribbon 
and  wrapped  it  around  Polly's  waist,  where  it 
made  an  inoffensive,  if  not  particularly  ar- 
tistic, belt.  Just  as  they  had  finished  pinning 
it  the  bell  rang. 

"  Gracious,  Margery,"  Polly  exclaimed, 
"  there's  doom  !  Come  on."  As  they  ran  up 
the  stairs,  Polly  slipped  her  arm  through 
Margery's.  "Sit  with  me  at  recess  to-day," 
she  whispered.  "  I  have  some  extra-sticky 
buns." 


CHAPTER  IX 

ESTHER 

"  THEE  may  go  to  the  board,"  said  Teacher 
Rachel  to  Polly  Jameson,  who  sat  beside  her 
half-hidden  by  the  table,  "  and  write  out  the 
declension  of  domus." 

Polly  sat  still. 

"  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel,"  she  answered 
sweetly  at  last. 

Teacher  Rachel  waited.  "  I  don't  believe 
that  thee  understood.  I  want  the  declension 
of  domus  written  on  the  board." 

A  sound  of  thumping  came  suddenly  from 
under  the  table. 

"  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel,"  murmured  Polly 
with  unaccustomed  meekness,  but  still  not 
getting  up. 

"  Hurry,  child  ;  thee  is  very  slow  to-day." 

There  was  more  thumping,  and  Polly  turned 
scarlet  and  squirmed  uneasily,  but  still  failed 
to  rise. 

11  Hurry,  Polly ! " 

128 


ESTHER  129 

"  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel." 

"  Polly !  " 

"  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel." 

"  Polly,  go  to  the  board  at  once." 

"  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel." 

"  Polly,  I  do  not  understand  thee  to-day, — 
thee  is  usually  so  obedient.  Now  I  want  thee 
to  stop  saying,  '  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel,'  and  do 
what  I  say  at  once." 

"  Yes,  Teacher  Rachel,"  and  Polly  ducked 
under  the  long  table-cover. 

"  Mary  Jameson  !  " 

The  bumping  and  thumping  became  violent 
and  prolonged. 

"  Mary,"  cried  the  now  thoroughly  ex- 
asperated teacher,  "  come  out  from  under  that 
table." 

The  table  heaved  convulsively,  then  settled 
down  again. 

A  suppressed,  half-scared  titter  rippled  over 
the  class.  Teacher  Rachel  rapped  with  her 
ruler  for  order,  and  settled  back  in  her  chair 
with  a  sigh. 

"  We  are  waiting,  Mary,"  she  announced  as 
the  table  heaved  again. 

A  final  thump,  and,  giggling  and  confused, 


I3o          MARGERY  MORRIS 

Polly  reappeared  from  under  the  table,  and 
with  a  do-or-die  expression  on  her  crimson 
face  hopped  to  the  blackboard,  both  feet 
firmly  wedged  in  Teacher  Rachel's  neat,  lady- 
like little  scrap-basket. 

Poor  Teacher  Rachel,  whose  sense  of  humor 
had  been  sadly  shrunk  in  the  bitter  waters 
of  two  decades  of  teaching,  frowned  at  the 
hilarious  class  and  rose  with  dignity. 

"  Will  thee  explain  this  astonishing  per- 
formance?" she  requested  of  the  now  purple 
Polly. 

"  It — it  was  this  w-way,"  stammered  the 
performer,  screwing  round  scrap-basket  and 
all,  "  I — I — well,  I  never  did  care  very  much 
for  Latin,  and — and — well,"  with  a  sheepish 
grin,  "I — just  thought  that  it  would  be  fun 
to  put  my  feet  in  the  scrap-basket.  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  why  I  happened  to  think  of  it, 
except  that  the  basket  was  there.  But  really, 
Teacher  Rachel,  I  never  dreamed  I'd  get  stuck, 
really  I  didn't." 

"  Remove  thy  feet." 

Polly  hesitated,  glanced  at  Dick,  who 
winked  at  her,  giggled  hysterically,  and 
snickered  out : 


ESTHER  1 3 1 

"  I — I  can't  1  They're  stuck — it's  so  nar- 
row at  the  bottom." 

"Sit  down." 

There  was  a  world  of  warning  in  that  tone, 
and  looking  rather  scared,  Polly  hopped  to 
the  nearest  chair  and  plumped  down,  and 
her  disgusted  teacher  yanked  off  the  offend- 
ing footgear. 

"  Now,  Mary,  leave  the  room.  The  class 
will  please  come  to  order." 

Polly  sidled  out  of  the  door  with  osten- 
tatious meekness,  and  the  class  subsided  ; 
although  every  now  and  then  some  one  would 
give  vent  to  something  that  began  suspiciously 
like  a  chuckle,  but  which  always  ended  dis- 
creetly in  a  cough. 

Polly  disappeared  directly  school  was  over, 
and  Margery,  who  took  her  luncheon  at  school, 
started  on  the  walk  home  without  seeing  her. 

It  was  a  glorious  day ;  old  Dame  Nature 
seemed  bent  on  giving  a  farewell  gala  per- 
formance before  she  should  retire  under  soft 
white  blankets  for  the  winter.  The  sky  was 
brilliantly  blue ;  here  and  there  roly-poly 
little  white  clouds  chased  each  other  across 
it  like  frolicsome  kittens.  As  she  skipped 


132          MARGERY  MORRIS 

and  slid  along  the  woodland  path,  slippery 
with  pine-needles,  Margery  suddenly  realized 
that  she  was  happy ;  happy  as  the  little  gray 
squirrels  that  chattered  in  the  tree  tops  and 
leaped  from  branch  to  branch  as  if  they  could 
not  contain  themselves  for  joy.  A  little  brown 
rabbit  scampered  across  the  path,  and  she 
stopped  to  watch  it. 

" Dick,"  she  said  softly,  "doesn't  that  bunny 
remind  you  of  Deborah  ?  There's  something 
awfully  nice  about  her,  isn't  there?"  and  she 
fcmiled  to  herself  as  she  thought  how  pleased 
Deborah  would  be  to  hear  of  her  encounter 
with  Polly  that  morning,  and  of  the  latter's 
friendliness. 

"  You  bet, — Deborah's  a  peach,"  Dick 
agreed,  stopping  to  shy  a  pine-cone  at  a 
squirrel,  which  whisked  out  of  sight  with  a 
contemptuous  flirt  of  its  tail. 

"  And  isn't  Polly  fun  ?  "  Margery  went  on. 
"  She  was  ever  so  nice  to-day, — more  like  the 
girls  at  home.  We  are  going  to  have  our 
desks  together,  if  Teacher  Rachel  will  let  us. 
Where  do  you  suppose  she  disappeared  to  after 
school?"  ' 

As  if  in  answer  came  a  distant  cry  of 


ESTHER  133 

"  Polly,  put  the  scrap-basket  on ! "  They 
turned ;  gleaming  between  the  dark  tree 
trunks  they  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  scarlet 
wheels. 

"  It's  Polly  I "  whooped  Dick.  "  Just  wait 
until  you  see  the  horse  she's  driving,  Marge. 
His  real  name  is  Spy, — but  the  fellows  call 
him  Spry, — he's  so  slow  1  Sit  down  and  take 
it  easy, — they'll  get  here  in  half  an  hour, — 
maybe." 

With  an  exaggerated  expression  of  patience, 
Dick  seated  himself  on  a  fallen  tree  trunk. 

"  Hello !  I  thought  maybe  I'd  overtake 
you.  Won't  you  get  in,  Margery  ?  "  invited 
Polly,  as  she  drew  up  in  a  showy  red-wheeled 
cart  pulled  by  a  sleek,  fat  horse.  "  I  am  go- 
ing over  to  see  Esther  Crowell, — and  I  thought 
you  might  like  to  meet  her.  She  has  the 
place  next  to  yours,  and  she  is  awfully  nice. 
You  may  come,  too,  if  you  want  to,  Dick," 
she  added  with  a  laugh. 

"  Thanks, — I'm  a  brave  man,  but  I'm  afraid 
that  Spry  might  run  away  with  me,"  de- 
clined Dick.  "  But  Margery  may  go.  Hop 
up,  Marge.  Don't  let  Spry  gallop  too  hard," 
he  warned  as  Polly  shook  the  reins  and 


134          MARGERT  MORRIS 

clucked  like  an  anxious  hen,  and  the  viva- 
cious Spy  moved  slowly  off. 

"  By  the  way,  Cinderella-Polly,"  Dick  called 
after  them,  "  your  new  slipper  seemed  quite 
stuck  on  you." 

"  Wasn't  it  awful,  Margery  ?  "  Polly  moaned. 
"  The  most  unromantic  things  are  always  hap- 
pening to  me  I " 

She  sighed  and  flapped  the  reins  up  and 
down  on  Spy's  back.  "  I've  just  been  back 
apologizing  to  Teacher  Rachel, — she  was  per- 
fectly sweet  about  it,  too.  I  was  awfully 
ashamed  of  myself,  really,  for  I  know  that 
she  suffers  from  neuritis  terribly  lately,  and 
it's  mean  to  make  her  any  more  trouble  than 
we  can  help.  But  Agag  just  got  hold  of  me 
and  put  my  feet  in  that  scrap-basket !  Some- 
times I  get  so  tired  fighting  Agag  that  I 
almost  give  up !  " 

"Agag?" 

Polly  laughed.  "Don't  think  that  I  am 
crazy;  it's  something  Mother  told  me  about 
one  day  when  I  had  done  something  or  other 
particularly  awful,  even  for  me.  Agag's  your 
worser  self,  you  know,  and  you  have  to  keep 
fighting  him  all  the  time.  It's  from  some- 


ESTHER  135 

thing  General  Gordon  said, — he  called  it 
Agag,  and  told  some  one  that  he  had  had 
an  awful  time  that  morning  '  hewing  Agag 
before  the  Lord.'  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to 
1  hew '  very  well,  or  rather,  Agag  jumps  up 
and  catches  me,  before  I  have  time  even  to 
think  of  hewing  him!  Wasn't  it  unromantic, 
though ! "  she  went  on,  flying  back  to  the 
subject  of  the  scrap-basket.  "  Those  people 
who  get  into  a  scrape  only  once  in  a  while 
can  afford  to  think  that  it's  funny,  but  I'm 
in  a  scrape  almost  all  the  time, — and  really, 
Margery,  it  does  get  awfully  mortifying  some- 
times." 

Margery  smiled  absently,  but  made  no  an- 
swer ;  she  was  thinking. 

"  Promise  that  you  won't  tell  a  soul,"  Polly 
demanded  after  they  had  jogged  along  quite 
sixty  seconds  in  silence.  "  Cross-your-heart 
hope-to-die?  Well,"  as  Margery  made  the 
required  sign,  "  I'm  writing  a  story  about  a 
beautiful  Russian  countess  named  Olga, — I've 
simply  got  to  have  some  romance  in  life  I" 

"Yes?"  said  Margery  vaguely;  she  was 
puzzling  over  Polly.  What  a  queer  girl  Polly 
was  to  think  of  such  things  as  Agag ;  yet  she 


136          MARGERT  MORRIS 

wasn't  the  least  bit  goody-good !  She  won- 
dered if  she  herself  had  not  a  "  worser  self," 
as  Polly  called  it,  to  fight.  The  idea  of  hew- 
ing Agag  appealed  to  Margery's  rather  mili- 
tant spirit. 

"  Here's  where  Esther  lives,"  Polly  inter- 
rupted her  musing.  "  She  doesn't  go  to  school, 
— her  mother  needs  her  at  home.  I  thought 
it  would  be  nice  for  you  to  know  her — she's  a 
whole  lot  pleasanter  than  some  of  those  fishes 
at  school." 

Margery's  dormant  sense  of  humor  stirred  a 
little,  as  though  some  day  it  might  awake. 
"  Anyway,"  she  smiled,  "  she  won't  be  able  to 
make  curtseys  at  me  behind  Teacher  Rachel's 
back, — because  Teacher  Rachel  won't  be 
there,"  she  added  in  case  Polly  might  miss 
the  point  of  her  small  joke. 

Polly  laughed  delightedly.  "  Why,  you've 
some  fun  in  you  after  all,"  she  said  admiringly, 
if  somewhat  outspokenly.  "  It  isn't  every  girl 
who  can  see  a  joke  on  herself!  " 

They  turned  into  a  private  lane,  and  drove 
up  to  the  front  of  a  rambling  frame  house, 
surrounded  by  tall  cedar  trees  which  had  been 
trimmed  bare  of  branches  except  a  cluster 


WHY,   YOU  VE    SOME    FUN    IN    YOU,    AFTER    ALL 


ESTHER  137 

at  the  very  top,  so  as  to  let  more  sunshine  get 
through  to  the  house,  and  which  resembled 
nothing  so  much  as  the  shaved  tails  of  French 
poodle  dogs.  Margery  had  a  confused  feeling 
that  a  whole  family  of  gigantic  canines  must 
have  been  buried  alive  and  their  tails  left 
sticking  straight  out. 

"  Polly,"  she  said,  and  pointed  to  the  trees. 

Polly  giggled  as  she  jumped  out  of  the  cart, 
and  hitched  her  horse  to  a  ring  in  one  of  the 
trees.  "  Yes,  aren't  they  killing  !  Come  on," 
she  added  mysteriously,  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

As  they  tiptoed  in  at  the  open  front  door,  a 
sweet-faced  woman  met  them ;  she  smiled 
meaningly  and  pointed  to  the  stairway  ;  Polly 
smiled  and  nodded  back,  and  seizing  Margery's 
hand  began  to  run  swiftly  up  the  stairs,  cau- 
tioning her  in  a  whisper  not  to  make  any 
noise.  At  the  top  of  two  flights  of  steep,  old- 
fashioned  stairs,  they  found  a  ladder  leading 
to  a  trap-door.  Up  the  ladder  Polly  scram- 
bled, pushed  aside  the  door,  and  disappeared 
with  a  wild  flourish  of  heels.  In  a  second  her 
flushed  face  appeared  again,  and  she  explained 
to  Margery  that  by  resting  her  stomach  on  the 
edge  of  the  door-casing,  balancing  her  feet  out, 


138          MARGERT  MORRIS 

and  squirming  round  a  bit,  she  could  get  up 
quite  easily.  It  did  not  sound  easy  to  Mar- 
gery ;  but  she  kicked  valiantly,  rocked  pre- 
cariously on  her  fifth  rib,  clutched  Polly  des- 
perately, and  in  a  moment  found  herself 
kneeling  on  the  floor  of  a  large,  old-fashioned 
garret. 

As  she  panted  for  breath,  she  looked  around 
her  with  eyes  wide  open  with  astonishment. 
She  had  never  dreamed  of  such  a  place  as  that 
garret.  Indeed,  it  was  a  wonderful  place ; 
one  that  would  have  driven  a  collector  wild 
with  joy.  Furniture  ran  in  the  Crowell  fam- 
ily as  pug-noses  or  irritable  dispositions  run 
in  others.  At  the  time  of  their  marriage  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Crowell  had  set  up  housekeeping 
with  a  house  full  of  fine  old  heirlooms  ;  so 
full  that  when  Mr.  Crowell's  widowed  cousin, 
and  later  his  spinster  great-aunt  had  died  and 
the  contents  of  their  large,  well-stocked  houses 
had  been  left  to  him,  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  pile  the  extra  furniture  into  the  garret. 
To  sell  it  would  have  seemed  to  the  Crowells 
an  insult  to  the  memories  of  its  former  own- 
ers ;  although  Mrs.  Crowell,  pressed  by  bills 
and  the  needs  of  a  large  family  of  young  chil- 


ESTHER  139 

dren,  thought  wistfully,  at  times,  of  the  sums 
that  old  mahogany  might  have  brought. 

In  the  center  of  the  garret  a  fine  old  carved 
bed  post  leaned  against  an  ancient  high-boy 
of  quaint  and  rare  design,  and  by  a  candle 
stand  sprawled  a  great  wool  spinning-wheel, 
while  behind  them  were  piled  a  medley  of  old 
Windsor  chairs,  high  chests  of  drawers,  and 
tables  of  every  degree  of  substantialness  or  friv- 
olity. From  the  rafters  old  hoop-skirts  dan- 
gled cheek  by  jowl  with  great  bunches  of  wild 
bergamot  and  rosemary  hung  there  to  dry  by 
the  careful  housewife.  At  one  side  of  the 
attic  a  pile  of  old-fashioned  trunks,  covered 
with  calfskins  with  the  hair  left  on,  rose  to 
the  low  dormer  roof. 

"Hello, — Polly?"  called  a  voice  from  be- 
hind the  structure. 

"  Yes,  my  lady, — 'tis  Polly.  Oh,  ouch, 
ouch  I "  In  closing  the  heavy  trap-door  Polly 
had  pinched  her  finger.  Sucking  the  injured 
digit,  she  was  rocking  backward  and  forward 
with  the  pain,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  Margery. 
"  Oh,  Esther,  come  out  quick,"  she  begged. 
"  I've  got  Margery  Morris  here, — I  wish  you 
could  see  her  face !  Oh,  dear,"  she  gasped 


140          MARGERT  MORRIS 

rolling  over,  "  it's  too  funny  !  I  forgot  to  ex- 
plain about  the  garret,  and  now  she  looks  so 
bewildered.  It's  no  wonder." 

"  No,  indeed,  it  isn't,"  laughed  a  roly-poly 
black-eyed  girl,  with  a  jolly,  easy  manner, 
who  came  out  from  behind  the  pile  of  trunks. 
"  Neither  of  us  is  crazy,"  she  explained,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  rather  formally  to  Margery 
as  Polly  introduced  them.  "  It  is  just  that  I 
have  so  many  little  brothers  and  sisters, — they 
won't  give  me  a  minute's  peace, — so  when  I 
want  to  be  quiet,  I  just  hide  up  here.  There's 
a  big  door  and  a  regular  stairway  that  leads 
down  from  here  into  the  guest-room,  but  Polly 
likes  to  come  up  by  the  ladder." 

"  It's  shorter,"  declared  Polly,  wrapping  her 
finger  in  her  handkerchief.  "  Besides,  it's  more 
exciting, — I'm  always  scared  to  death  that  some 
of  the  kids  will  catch  me  on  the  way  up." 

'"Kids/"  teased  Esther.  "Now,  Polly, 
what  does  Teacher  Rachel  say  to  thee  about 
the  '  inelegancies  '  of  thy  language  ?  Isn't 
4  kids  '  somewhat  inelegant  ?  " 

"  That  depends  on  the  kids,"  grinned  Polly. 
"  Come  on  now,  Esther,  do  show  Margery 
your  den." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   L.  A.  L. 

MARGERY  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  pile 
of  trunks  partitioned  off  a  little  room  from 
the  rest  of  the  garret.  Here  Esther  and  her 
mother  had  arranged  a  retreat  where  the 
studious  girl  might  read  or  study,  safe  from 
interruption  from  the  brood  of  little  brothers 
and  sisters  who  loved  her  so  dearly  and  who 
imposed  so  upon  her. 

Only  very  keen  eyes  could  have  discovered 
from  the  other  side  that  there  was  anything 
back  of  the  pile  of  trunks  but  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Spider  and  Miss  Mouse.  But  once  inside 
the  den  it  was  a  cozy  place.  A  rug  was  spread 
on  the  floor  and  a  gay  Paisley  shawl  covered 
a  comfortable  old-fashioned  lounge.  A  big 
mahogany  desk  was  fitted  up  with  a  clean 
blotter  and  writing  materials,  and  gay  pictures 
were  pinned  to  the  quilts  hung  to  hide  the 
trunks.  Through  a  low  dormer  window, 

141 


142          MARGERT  MORRIS 

Margery  could  see  a  wide  vista  of  scarlet  and 
gold  woods  and  lush  meadows  and  far  off  the 
blue  creek  winding  its  way  to  the  river. 

"  Isn't  this  fun,  Margery  ? "  Polly  de- 
manded. "Don't  you  just  adore  garrets? 
It  must  have  been  awfully  dull  in  the  stone- 
age." 

The  other  girls  laughed.  "  Now,  Polly," 
Esther  asked,  "  what  have  garrets  got  to  do 
with  the  stone-age  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,  they  didn't  have 
garrets  in  the  stone-age,  therefore  it  must 
have  been  very  dull  then.  Half  the  fun  of 
life,  when  you  are  growing  up,  is  to  have  a 
garret  to  browse  around  in,  and  to  dream  in, 
and  to  plan  all  the  things  you  are  going  to 
be, — and  never  are, — wait  a  minute  before 
we  begin  to  talk, — I  stopped  at  Jimmie's  on 
the  way  out." 

"  Then  we  certainly  won't  be  able  to  talk. 
Old  Jimmie  is  a  Renwyck's  Town  institution," 
Esther  explained  to  Margery.  "He  keeps 
the  funniest  little  store,  has  a  little  bit  of 
everything  in  it,  and  makes  the  most  luscious 
home-made  caramels  that  you  ever  had.  Do 
sit  on  this  end  of  the  sofa.  The  springs  are 


THE  L.  A.  L.  143 

rather  broken  at  that  end, — and  you  can  get 
a  better  view  from  the  window  here." 

Well  supplied  with  caramels,  Margery 
curled  up  in  the  corner  of  the  old  sofa,  from 
which  she  could  watch  a  hawk  wheeling 
through  the  air,  while  Polly  rehearsed  for 
Esther's  benefit  the  tragedy  of  the  scrap- 
basket. 

"  Agag  got  the  upper  hand  to-day,  didn't 
he,  Polly  ?  "  teased  Esther.  "  Pretty  Polly,— 
have  a  scrap- basket?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  the  struggles  I  have  with 
that  Agag !  Oh,  good  lack-a-day  I  Look 
what  I've  done !  "  Polly,  heedlessly  jumping 
up  to  show  Esther  exactly  how  she  had  had 
to  hop  to  the  board,  had  dropped  the  bag  of 
caramels  and  scattered  its  contents  over  the 
floor.  "  Most  of  them  are  under  the  sofa, 
too  !  "  she  lamented.  "  Well,  never  mind, — 
I'll  do  the  groveling,"  and  her  head  and 
arms  disappeared  under  the  sofa. 

"  Girls,"  came  a  muffled  voice,  "  I've  a  per- 
fect plan — wait  until  I  get  out  from  under 
here,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"  All  right,  we'll  wait,"  and  Esther  leaned 
over  slyly  to  tickle  the  back  of  Polly's  ankle. 


I44         MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Stop  that,  you  villain  !  There  !  I  think 
I've  got  the  last  one,"  and  Polly's  face,  red 
and  somewhat  dusty,  reappeared.  "  It  didn't 
hurt  the  caramels  a  bit, — each  one  is  covered 
with  paper,  anyway.  Well,  as  to  my  plan, — 
or  '  to  return  to  our  muttons  '  as  the  poet  hath 
it, — it  just  struck  me,  under  the  sofa, — and  I 
want  you  to  agree  to  it,"  and  she  threw  a 
meaning  look  at  Esther. 

"  All  right,  I  agree,"  Esther  chimed  in. 
She  adored  Polly,  and  usually  followed  where 
she  led. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  it's  fun  up  here, 
Margery  ?  "  continued  Polly. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  Margery  agreed  sincerely. 
After  her  unhappy  week  at  school,  the  cozy 
little  den  and  these  courteous,  amiable  girls 
seemed  very  pleasant  to  her. 

"Well,"  went  on  Polly,  "don't  you  think 
that  it  would  be  fun  if  we  had  a  little  club, 
and  met  here  once  or  twice  a  week  ? "  and 
she  glanced  meaningly  at  Esther  again. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Esther  acquiesced,  as  com- 
manded by  the  look. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Margery,  unconscious  of 
Polly's  signals.  "  What  kind  of  a  club  ?  " 


THE  L.  A.  L.  145 

"  We'll  decide  that  later, — first,  I  must  have 
a  staff  of  office  as  promoter.  Come  help  me 
get  one,  Esther."  As  the  two  girls  disap- 
peared into  the  outer  garret,  Polly  whispered 
to  Esther,  "  The  girls  at  school  are  hateful  to 
her.  We  have  just  got  to  help  her,  and  see  if 
we  can't  make  things  so  that  she  won't  be 
quite  so  lonely.  She  seems  awfully  nice,  if 
she  is  rather  airyfied." 

"  Sshh,"  cautioned  Esther ;  "  she  will  hear 
you.  Yes,  Sam  told  me  the  other  day  that  the 
girls  were  inclined  to  make  fun  of  her.  How 
long  is  she  to  stay  with  the  Morrises  ?  " 

"  All  winter,  I  think." 

When  Polly  reappeared  she  carried  a  huge 
old  green  cotton  umbrella,  tied  around  its 
waist  with  a  piece  of  string,  which  she  pounded 
dramatically  on  the  floor  as  she  announced  : 

"  It  having  been  decided  upon  that  a  club 
shall  be  formed,  the  object  of  the  club  will 
now  be  sat  upon.  Our  distinguished  visitor 
shall  have  first  choice." 

"  I  think  that  a  social  club  would  be  nice," 
Margery  suggested,  as  distinctly  as  she  could 
for  laughing,  "  and  we  could  give  dances  and 
things." 


146         MARGERY  MORRIS 

Polly  groaned.  "  Niver.  The  shpectacle 
of  me  sproightly  silf  doin'  the  '  loight 
fantastic '  would  be  enough  to  make  the  ould 
cow  die  of  hysterics.  No,  we'll  have  to  have 
somethin'  proivate  and  select-loike." 

"  I  think  a  club  for  the  suppression  of 
Polly's  mischief  would  be  a  good  thing, — 
only  we'd  all  die  of  overwork,"  and  Esther 
dodged  the  caramel  that  Polly  threw  at  her. 

Polly  knocked  violently  on  the  floor  with 
the  umbrella.  "  We  must  be  serious, — do 
let's  think, — don't  you  think  that  a  literary 
club  would  be  nice?  It  would  help  us  with 
our  careers,  too."  Polly's  modest  ambition 
was  to  be  the  greatest  living  author,  and  as  a 
side  issue,  when  resting  from  turning  out  the 
Great  American  Novel,  to  be  something  of  an 
improvement  on  Reynolds  and  Gainsborough 
as  a  portrait  painter. 

Margery  demurred.  "  I  couldn't  write  a 
story  if  my  life  depended  on  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  could.  Polly  and  I  write 
lots  of  them; — they  are  perfect!}'  crazy,  of 
course,  but  we  have  lots  of  fun  doing  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Margery,"  Polly  added  her  voice, 
"  you  know  you  can, — you  could  give  a  tone 


THE  L.  A.  L.  147 

to  our  humble  efforts, — write  us  some  stories 
of  socoiety-loife." 

Margery  laughed,  and  gave  in. 

"  The  motion  is  put  that  this  be  a  literary 
club, — will  somebody  please  second  the  mo- 
tion ? "  Polly  had  once  read  a  book  on 
parliamentary  rules  of  order. 

"  I'll  second  it,"  Esther  dutifully  complied. 

"  I  third  it,"  Margery  contributed,  and  was 
promptly  ruled  out  of  order  by  Polly. 

Polly  banged  the  umbrella  against  the 
floor.  "  Now,  for  the  name." 

"  I  think  that  we  ought  to  have  something 
in  it  about  a  tower-room,"  suggested  Margery, 
who  had  been  much  impressed  by  the  romance 
of  the  little  hidden  room. 

"  To  be,  or  not  tower  be."  This  dreadful 
pun  from  Esther  aroused  Polly's  ire,  and  she 
waved  the  umbrella  menacingly,  as  she  im- 
plored them,  "  Please  be  serious  !  " 

"  All  right.  What  would  you  suggest, 
Pollykins  ?  " 

"  Don't  know, — haven't  an  idea, — never 
have  when  I  want  one." 

"  Oughtn't  we  to  name  it  after  somebody  ?  " 
Margery  asked.  "  Shakespeare,  or  somebody 


148          MARGERT  MORRIS 

like  that — or — or  " — certain  Lenten  readings 
of  her  mother's  coming  to  her  mind — 
"  Maeter — Maeter — Maeterlinck,  or  some  of 
those  funny  people." 

Esther  agreed.  "  Yes,  I  think  that  a  lit- 
erary club  ought  to  be  named  after  a  writer." 

But  "  after  what  writer  ?  "  was  the  problem, 
and  suggestions  ranged  all  the  way  from 
Mother  Goose  to  Homer  and  Mark  Twain. 

"  I  have  it,"  Polly  cried  at  last.  "  She  had 
a  tower-room,  too,  so  that  brings  in  Margery's 
tower." 

"  Who  did  ?  " 

"  Lady  Anne  Lindsay,  of  course." 

Esther  and  Margery  looked  blank. 

"  Please  enlighten  us,  Polly,"  Esther  re- 
quested. "  Was  Lady  Anne  Lindsay — a 
writer,  an  historical  character,  or  a  race- 
horse? You  never  can  tell  with  Polly,"  she 
explained  to  Margery  ;  "  for  days  she  raved 
about  a  lovely  Lady  Jane, — finally,  it  came 
out  that  the  mysterious  Lady  Jane  was  a 
dachshund  that  she  had  seen  at  the  dog- 
show." 

Polly  was  dignified.  "  Lady  Anne  Lindsay 
was  the  author  of '  Auld  Robin  Gray  ' — I'm 


THE  L.  A.  L.  149 

surprised  at  your  ignorance.  Ever  since  yes- 
terday I've  known  that  she  wrote  it." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  the  song,"  and  Margery 
Bang,  "  I  wish  I  were  dead,  but  I'm  no  like  to 
dee,"  words  that  chimed  in  well  with  her 
sentiments  during  much  of  her  stay,  so  far, 
in  Renwyck's  Town. 

Polly  beamed  approval.  "  That's  it.  I 
wish  that  I  could  sing  the  way  you  do !  I 
can't  even  carry  a  tune.  Well,  Lady  Anne 
Lindsay  really  did  have  an  interesting  life — 
especially  when  she  was  a  girl.  Cousin 
Elizabeth  is  visiting  us,  and  she  read  about 
her  to  Mother  and  me  last  night.  Perhaps 
you  have  heard  of  Cousin  Elizabeth,  Mar- 
gery? She's  Elizabeth  Hoover,  the  writer, 
you  know." 

Margery  had  heard  of  Miss  Hoover,  who 
happened  to  be  the  novelist  and  playwright 
of  the  moment,  and  who  had  even  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  win  the  high  approval  of 
Marie  Smythe,  who  had  voted  one  of  her 
lighter  dramas  "  perfectly  sweet."  Margery 
looked  at  Polly  with  new  respect. 

"  Tell  us  about  this  Lady  Mary  Lindley, 
Polly,"  Esther  requested. 


1 50          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Lady  Anne  Lindsay  !  Treat  the  lady  with 
respect, — remember  that  you  are  to  be  named 
after  her.  Well,"  Polly  took  a  deep  breath 
and  began,  "  she  lived  a  couple  of  hundred 
years  ago  in  a  lonely  castle  away  up  on  the 
east  coast  of  Scotland.  And  though  they 
lived  in  a  castle  and  had  titles  and  all  that, 
they  were  really  awfully  poor.  And  the  girls 
had  to  have  their  frocks  made  out  of  strips  of 
their  mother's  wedding  dress,  pieced  out  with 
some  blue  gauze  that  they  had — which  must 
have  gotten  awfully  in  the  way  when  they 
rode  on  the  pig's  back.  .  .  ." 

"  Did  they  have  to  ride  the  pig  because 
they  were  so  poor?"  put  in  Esther,  at  her 
favorite  game  of  teasing  Polly. 

"  Of  course  not,  goosie.  For  fun, — they 
were  up  to  anything.  Their  father  was 
terribly  old,"  Polly  continued,  "  and  he  was 
awfully  funny.  He  wore  a  wig  with  three 
pigtails  hanging  down  over  his  shoulders,  but 
he  had  beautiful  manners,  and  he  was  so 
polite  that  he  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly.  One  day 
he  caught  an  old  woman  stealing  his  turnips 
from  one  of  his  fields, — he  started  to  scold  her, 
but  he  ended  by  lifting  the  big  bag  of  stolen 


THE  L.  A.  L.  151 

turnips  for  her,  because  it  would  not  be  polite 
to  let  a  woman  lift  anything  heavy.  But 
their  mother  was  awfully  cross — one  day  they 
all  ran  away." 

"  Why  ?  "  questioned  Margery. 

"  Well, — they  just  ran  away.  They  said 
that  their  mother  made  their  home  '  horrious.' 
They  went  in  a  procession,  in  single  file,  the 
biggest  one  at  the  head  with  the  baby  on  his 
back,  and  the  littlest  toddler  bringing  up  the 
rear.  Their  old  shepherd,  Robin  Gray,  ran 
to  their  mother  and  said,  '  Oh,  my  lady,  all 
the  ledies,  an'  all  the  young  gentlemen,  an' 
all  the  dogs  is  run  awa' ! '  So  their  mother 
sent  after  them,  and  they  were  caught  and 
brought  home,  and  then,"  Polly  finished  with 
a  laugh,  "  their  mother  gave  them  an  awful 
dose  of  medicine  all  round,  to  make  home 
seem  pleasanter  to  them." 

"  Go  on.  What  happened  to  Lady  Thinga- 
mabob  when  she  grew  up  ?  "  Esther  probed. 
As  Sam  said,  Esther  always  got  "  at  the  root 
of  the  matter,  if  it  took  the  last  pig  in  the 
pen." 

"  Oh,  she  grew  up,  and  became  a  great  belle 
in  Edinburgh  when  she  went  there  to  visit. 


1 52         MARGERT  MORRIS 

And  one  day,  up  in  her  tower-room,  she  wrote 
'  Auld  Robin  Gray.'  There,  I'm  tired  of  talk- 
ing,— for  once  !  " 

Margery  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "  Oh,  it 
was  fine,  Polly, — do  let's  call  the  club  the 
Lady  Anne  Lindsay  Club,"  and  Margery 
looked  at  Polly  admiringly.  Polly  had  an 
unusually  sweet  speaking  voice,  and  a  dra- 
matic way  of  telling  the  simplest  story,  as 
well  as  an  unconsciousness  and  naturalness 
that  were  very  winning.  Margery  was  shocked 
to  find  himself  thinking  that  Marie  Smythe 
was  insipid  beside  this  vivid  creature. 

"  We  can  call  the  club  the  L.  A.  L.  for 
short.  And  we  won't  let  the  boys  know  a 
thing  about  it.  Remember,  Margery,  don't  let 
it  out  to  Dick.  Now,  Margery, — it's  your  turn 
to  give  us  a  story.  I'll  get  some  pears  as  my 
part  of  the  entertainment, — I'm  too  dumb  for 
anything  more  '  high  brow,'  as  Polly  says," 
and  Esther  brought  some  of  the  biggest  and 
juiciest  of  the  pears  that  had  been  spread 
to  ripen  slowly  between  old  quilts  on  the  floor 
of  the  outer  garret. 

Margery  felt  embarrassed  ;  she  hated  to  ap- 
pear as  a  stupid,  uninteresting  sort  of  person 


THE  L.  A.  L.  153 

before  these  clever  girls.  "  I  can't  think  of  a 
thing  to  tell  you,"  she  regretted,  as  she  bit 
into  her  pear.  "  I  wish  I  could." 

"  Oh,  just  try,"  urged  Esther. 

Polly  got  up.  "  I'm  sorry,  but  the  shadows 
are  getting  pretty  long,  and  if  I'm  to  drive 
you  home,  I'm  afraid  that  we  had  better  be 
going." 

Margery  got  up  too,  rather  reluctantly. 
She  was  putting  on  her  jacket,  when  a  thought 
struck  her.  "  Oh,  I  do  remember  something 
to  tell  you,"  she  cried,  standing  with  one  arm 
half  in  her  jacket  sleeve.  "  It's  some  verses  a 
Scotch  lady  that  was  visiting  us  one  time 
taught  me.  They're  written  by  an  old  Scotch- 
man. The  first  poem  is  very  sad.  It's  called 
a  '  March  Day.' '  She  began  solemnly  : 

11  l  First  it  frizz,  and  then  it  thew, 
Soon  it  rained,  and  then  it  snew, 
And  then  it  blew, — most  horrid  ! '  " 

"  Oh,  Margery,"'  Polly  cried,  delightedly, 
"  that's  a  gem  !  You'll  have  to  come  and 
recite  it  to  Cousin  Elizabeth, — she's  crazy 
about  things  like  that." 

"  Did  he  mean  to  be  funny  ?  "  askedi  Esther. 

"  No  indeed.     He  thought  that  he  was  a 


154          MARGERT  MORRIS 

great  poet, — as  great  as  Robert  Burns.     There's 
another  one — '  The  Hen,'  it's  called  : 

"  '  The  heii  it  is  an  awful  beast, 
It  plays  about  our  door, 
And  every  day  it  lays  an  egg, 
Or  one,  or  two,  or  three,  or  four, 
Or  so,  or  more. ' ' ' 

"  Dear  me,"  laughed  Esther,  who  got  the 
"  egg  money  "  of  the  household  poultry-yard 
as  a  perquisite,  "  I  wish  that  our  hens  could 
lay  like  that." 

"Do  you  know  any  more?"  demanded 
Polly,  holding  Margery's  jacket  and  doubling 
her  arm  into  the  sleeve  as  though  Margery 
had  been  a  baby. 

"  Only  one." 

"  Proceed." 

Margery  beamed.  "  This  one  was  written 
when  the  Ayr  bridge  fell  down,"  she  an- 
nounced. "  Here  it  is  : 

"  '  The  brig  fell  doon,  wi'  sic  a  stoon, 
The  fishes  ran  frae  toon  tae  toon, 
Ah,  what  a  day  that  nicht !'  " 

"  Don't  forget  the  L.  A.  L.  ! "  reminded 
Esther  as,  still  laughing,  she  accompanied  her 
friends  down  the  stairway  that  led  from  the 


THE  L.  A.  L.  155 

garret  into  a  quaintly  furnished  guest-room,  a 
somewhat  tamer  mode  of  descent  than  the 
trap-door.  "  I'm  awfully  glad  that  you  have 
come  to  Renwyck's  Town." 

Margery  smiled  with  the  winning  gracious- 
ness  she  knew  so  well  how  to  assume,  when 
she  happened  to  feel  like  it.  "  Thank  you," 
she  returned  sweetly.  Then  raising  her  eyes 
to  the  frank  faces  of  the  two  girls  standing 
arm  in  arm  on  the  steps  above  her,  she  added 
sincerely,  "  I've  had  an  awfully  jolly  time  this 
afternoon,  and  do  you  know, — I  really  believe 
that  I'm  going  to  like  Renwyck's  Town,  after 
all." 


CHAPTER  XI 

PUMPKINS 

"  WE  won't  let  the  boys  know  a  thing  about 
it  beforehand  !  Be  sure  you  don't  let  it  out  to 
Dick,  Margery." 

"  Honestly,  Esther,  I  don't  believe  that  he 
would  hear  me  if  I  did.  He's  too  busy  fuss- 
ing because  Grandpapa  doesn't  answer  his 
letters." 

"  Still,  you  had  better  not  run  any  risks." 

"  Right  you  are,  Esther,"  commented  Polly, 
sliding  gracefully  backward  off  the  arm  of 
the  sofa  onto  its  broad  seat.  "  If  any  of  the 
boys  even  look  inquisitive,  I  shall  say, 
4  Avaunt,  false  knave  !  Tremble  and  cower  ! 
Know  ye  not  that '  " 

"  Now,  Polly.  '  do  be  serious,'  "  interrupted 
Esther,  wickedly  quoting  the  expression  so 
often  on  Polly's  lips. 

But  Polly  refused  to  notice  the  gibe. 
"  Look  out,  Esther,"  she  warned  with  mock 

156 


PUMPKINS  157 

solemnity,  "  some  of  these  days  a  nice  little 
joke  will  come  up  to  you,  and  if  you  aren't 
careful,  it  might, — well,  it  might  bite  you." 

Esther  laughed  good-naturedly.  "  You 
goose  I  "  she  murmured. 

"What  thinkest  thou,  fair  Margaret?" 
Polly  chanted,  waving  one  foot  elegantly  as 
emphasis,  "  of  ye  jack-lanterns  made  ®ut  of  ye 
golden  pumpkins,  which  we  purpose,  on  ye 
hobgoblin  occasion  which  ye  vulgar  hath 
termed  '  Hallowe'en ' 

"  I've  a  toofache  in  my  tummy  !  "  wailed  a 
small  voice.  "  Sister,  I  wants  you  I  " 

Margery  poked  her  head  out  of  the  window 
of  Esther's  little  den,  where  the  girls  were 
spending  the  afternoon  on  the  Monday  follow- 
ing Polly's  escapade  with  the  scrap-basket. 
"  It's  a  little  boy,"  she  reported,  "  sitting 
under  the  apple  tree, — the  picture  of  woe." 

"  It's  Jimmie,"  Esther  sighed.  "  He's  the 
baby  of  the  family,  you  know.  I  suppose 
that  he  has  been  eating  those  apples  again. 
You'd  think  that  he  would  have  learned 
better  by  this  time." 

"  Poor  kid  !  "  laughed  Polly,  getting  up. 
"  I  can  sympathize  with  him.  Come  on,  my 


1 58          MARGERT  MORRIS 

young  Christian  friends,  we  had  better  go 
down." 

On  cross-examination,  Jimmie  admitted 
that  the  "  toofache  "  was  more  a  matter  of 
loneliness  than  of  apples.  His  brothers  and 
sisters  had  gone  off  to  hunt  chestnuts,  he 
sobbed,  and  left  him  "  ahind,"  and  he  was 
correspondingly  low  in  his  mind. 

The  girls  regarded  him  ruefully.  They 
had  intended  going  to  a  neighbor's  for  a  load 
of  pumpkins  with  which  on  Hallowe'en  they 
were  to  surprise  the  boys  with  a  fine  array  of 
jack-lanterns. 

"  Well,  I'm  afraid  that  I  shan't  be  able  to 
go,"  Esther  announced  as  she  tenderly  wiped 
away  the  last  tear  trickling  down  Jimmie's 
fat  cheeks.  "  We  can't  take  him,  of  course, 
— so  I'll  have  to  stay  home  and  take  care  of 
him.  Mother  has  gone  to  Grandmother's, 
and  I  suppose  old  Sarah  is  busy.  She  isn't 
much  use  in  looking  after  the  youngsters, 
anyway." 

Polly  scratched  her  nose  meditatively  with 
a  piece  of  apple  twig.  "  I  don't  see  why  we 
can't  take  him,"  she  reflected.  "  He  can  sit 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon.  Oh,  my  good- 


PUMPKINS  159 

ness!"  she  screamed,  jumping  to  her  feet. 
"  Esther  1  There  goes  Jake  with  the  wagon 
now  I  Whoa  I  Whoa  !  " 

"  Whoa  1  Whoa  1  "  shrieked  the  others 
frantically.  "  Oh,  Jake,  stop ! " 

But  Jake,  the  Crowells'  "  hired  man," 
could  not,  or  would  not,  hear,  and  the  cart 
rattled  out  of  the  front  gate,  and  down  the 
road. 

"  Well,"  said  Margery,  after  a  final,  de- 
spairing shriek,  "  that's  always  the  way  when 
I  try  to  have  any  fun." 

"  It's  a  shame,"  agreed  Esther,  forgetting 
her  own  disappointment  in  sympathy  for 
Margery. 

Polly  leaned  her  back  against  the  apple 
tree,  and  continued  thoughtfully  to  rub  her 
nose  with  a  twig.  "  I  wonder,"  she  pondered 
aloud,  "  if  people  often  do  get  any  fun  when 
they  just  expect  it  to  drop  from  the  skies  into 
their  laps.  In  a  sort  of  a  way  that's  what  we 
are  doing  now.  Really,  the  fun  of  having 
fun  is  to  have  fun  when  there  isn't  any  fun  to 
have.  Now,  I'm  going  down  to  the  barn  and 
get  a  horse  and  cart, — and  we  will  get  the 
pumpkins  yet." 


160         MARGERT  MORRIS 

Polly's  philosophy  found  little  response  m 
Esther.  "  I'm  afraid,  Polly,"  she  demurred, 
"  that  there  isn't  a  horse  or  cart  left  in  the 
barn." 

"  There's  Spy." 

Esther  smiled.  "  Now,  Polly,  do  you  really 
suppose  that  we  could  carry  any  pumpkins  in 
that  shaky  brake-cart  of  yours?  They'd  all 
roll  out ! " 

"  I'll  find  a  way  to  fix  them." 

"  Bet  you  can't !  " 

'*  Bet  I  can,  too,"  and  with  a  laugh  and 
a  little  face  at  the  girls,  Polly  disappeared 
toward  the  barn. 

Margery  sfat  down  disconsolately  on  an 
upturned  peach-basket,  while  Esther  knelt 
before  Jimmie,  the  pride  and  darling  of  the 
Crowell  family,  trying  to  put  him  through 
the  paces  of  his  accomplishments.  "Now  tell 
Margery,  Jimmie  dear,  what  you  saw  at  the 
circus." 

"  Bears  an'  lelfunts."  „  , 

"  Yes,  'dear,  and  you  saw  pretty  ladies  on 
white  horses, — didn't  you,  dear?" 

Jimmte's  description  of  the  pretty  ladies 
who  rode  the  white  horses  at  the  circus  was 


PUMPKINS  161 

considered  the  most  distinguished  of  his  social 
graces. 

"  Bears  an'  lelfunts." 

"  Yes,  but  Jimmie  dear,  weren't  there  any 
pretty  ladies  ?  " 

"  Bears  an'  lelfunts." 

"  Oh,  Jimmie,  you  rascal  I  Can't  you  tell 
Margery  about  the  pretty  ladies  ?  See,  she's 
waiting  to  hear  about  them." 

Jimmie  folded  his  fat  little  hands  on  his 
fat  little  stomach,  and  sat  down  with  a  jounce 
that  would  have  been  trying  to  any  one  fur- 
ther away  from  the  ground.  "  No,"  he  said 
firmly,  "  I'se  told  all  my  told,  an'  I'se  got  no 
more  told  to  told." 

"  Aha,  ladies,"  came  an  exulting  shout  from 
the  barn.  "  Who  said  there  wasn't  a  oart  left  ? 
Look  at  this  !  " 

Dragging  the  fat  and  panting  Jimmie  with 
them,  Margery  and  Esther  raced  around  the 
corner  of  the  house  to  the  barn.  There  stood 
Spy  harnessed  to  a  particularly  old  and  rickety 
dump-cart,  two-wheeled,  and  painted  a  lan- 
guishing pale  blue,  which,  in  its  younger  and 
palmier  days,  had  been  used  to  haul  gravel. 
On  the  high  front  seat  Polly  sat  cracking  her 


162          MARGERT  MORRIS 

whip  over  Spy,  who  turned  his  head  now  and 
then  to  regard  with  mild  astonishment  this 
strange  vehicle  which  had  been  fastened  upon 
him. 

"  Hop  up,  ladies  and  gentlemen !  Hop 
up  !  Here,  Marge, — give  me  your  hand.  Oh, 
clumsy  ! — Put  your  foot  on  the  wheel.  That's 
the  ticket.  Now  then ;  boost  Jimmie  up — 
there — now  I've  got  him.  All  right,  Esther? 
Well,  then,  go  on,  Spy." 

The  road  leading  to  the  neighbor  who  had 
offered  them  the  pumpkins  was  a  lonely  one, 
and  only  one  person  met  them  on  the  way  to 
be  amused  at  their  quaint  vehicle.  That 
was  old  Dr.  Huston  who,  scorning  auto- 
mobiles as  inventions  of  the  evil  one,  still 
clung  to  his  ancient  steed,  an  animal  only 
less  slow  than  Spy.  He  and  Polly  were  great 
friends,  and  many  a  good-natured  race  did 
they  run. 

"  Beat  you  this  time,  Polly,"  he  called  as 
he  came  up  beside  her. 

"  'Deed  you  won't !  "  she  called  in  answer, 
giving  a  grand  flourish  to  her  whip.  "  Here 
goes ! " 

Bumpity,  bumpity,  bump,  rattled  the  cart, 


PUMPKINS  163 

the  three  girls  clinging  to  the  seat  and  to 
Jimmie,  laughing  and  shrieking  shrill  little 
shrieks  of  feminine  enjoyment,  while  Spy 
humped  along,  struggling  to  keep  abreast  of 
his  ancient  rival.  But  success  was  with  the 
doctor  to-day,  and  he  turned  down  a  cross- 
road, waving  back  a  derisive  hand  at  them. 

"  Well,  we  should  have  had  to  stop,  any- 
way," said  Polly,  always  quite  willing  to 
admit  her  own  faults,  but  sensitive  on  the 
subject  of  those  of  her  pet.  "  Spy  could  beat 
his  old  horse  any  day, — but  here's  the  field." 

The  girls  scattered  to  search  out  the  smaller 
pumpkins  that  could  easily  be  carried  back  to 
the  cart,  and  Margery,  wandering  across  the 
wide  field,  found  herself  shut  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  world  by  long  aisles  of  tall,  yellow  corn- 
shocks.  A  crisp,  October  breeze,  warmed  by 
the  sun  and  coming  from  the  ocean  across 
miles  of  redolent  pine-barrens,  rustled  the 
dried  stalks,  and  a  southward-bound  thrush 
paused  to  sing  of  the  joys  of  the  summer  that 
was  gone.  As  Margery  lifted  her  head  to  let 
the  wind  blow  through  her  curls,  the  spell  of 
the  quiet,  peaceful  old  land  fell  upon  her,  as 
it  has  fallen  upon  many  another,  and  although 


164          MARGERY  MORRIS 

she  was  too  young  to  analyze,  or  to  under- 
stand, she  vaguely  felt  that  no  matter  how  far 
she  might  wander,  her  heart  would  always 
turn  back  to  its  woods  and  fields,  and  its 
kindly,  courteous  people. 

"  I  wish  that  I  hadn't  been  so  horrid  about 
coming,"  she  thought.  "  I  believe  that  there 
is  something  in  what  Polly  says  about  having 
to  fight  Agag, — I  suppose  that  my  Agag  is 
wanting  to  have  my  own  way  all  the  time. 
I  wish  that  I  could  do  something  big  and 
wonderful,  something  that  would  make  the 
whole  world  better  and  happier,  and  that 
would  make  me  famous,"  and  like  many  an- 
other girl,  Margery  dreamed  of  the  great  things 
that  she  might  do  some  day  for  the  world  at 
large,  and  never  once  thought  of  the  com- 
monplace, little  things  that  she  might  have 
done  at  the  present  to  make  her  own  small 
world  a  happier,  smoother  place :  the  cour- 
teous answers  that  she  might  have  given  to 
Dick's  questions ;  the  frocks  that  she  might 
have  picked  up,  and  not  left  carelessly  on  bed 
or  chairs  for  Deborah  to  hang  away  ;  the  extra 
petting  that  she  might  have  yielded  mother- 
less little  Benjamin. 


PUMPKINS  165 

"  Margery  I  Marg-ery  !  "  Polly's  voice  came 
faintly  on  the  breeze. 

"  Yes, — coming  !  "  Hastily  gathering  up 
her  skirt,  which  fortunately  was  of  good,  stout 
serge,  to  form  a  sort  of  bag,  Margery  filled  it 
with  the  smallest  pumpkins  that  she  could 
find,  and  ran  as  speedily  as  she  was  able  for 
the  heavy  load  bumping  against  her  knees, 
through  the  avenues  of  corn-shocks  back  to 
the  road. 

"  Margery  !  "  called  Polly,  as  she  drew  near, 
"  what  do  you  suppose  we've  done  ?  We've  for- 
gotten the  tail-board !  Isn't  that  a  mess  I  What- 
ever shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Tail-board  ?     What's  that  ?  " 

"  The  board  that  goes  in  the  back  of  the 
cart  and  holds  things  in.  The  pumpkins  will 
roll  out  without  it, — what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Can't  we  find  another  board  ?  " 

"  Nary  a  board  to  be  found, — we've 
looked." 

"  Go  back  after  it." 

"  Get  us  home  too  late." 

"  We're  doomed,"  lamented  Margery,  feel- 
ing that  fate  was  most  cruelly  insisting  on 
making  a  martyr  of  her. 


1 66         MARGERT  MORRIS 

Esther  laughed  and  pulled  one  of  Margery's 
curls,  temptingly  near.  "  There  are  more 
ways  of  killing  a  cat  than  choking  it  to 
death.  You  don't  really  suppose,  do  you, 
Margery,  that  three  such  brilliant  damsels 
as  we  are  going  to  be  stumped  by  a  little 
thing  like  a  tail-board  ?  I'll  be  tail-board." 

"  You  f  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  sit  across  the  end  and  keep  the 
pumpkins  in.  See?"  scrambling  up  to  dem- 
onstrate. "  I  can  sit  with  my  back  braced 
against  this  side,  and  my  feet  against  that, 
like  this." 

"  Sure  you  won't  tumble,  Esther  ?  "  queried 
Polly. 

"  Pos-i-tive.  Why,  just  look,"  and  Esther 
leaned  back  against  one  side  of  the  cart,  and 
dug  her  heels  into  the  other,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  grim  determination  that  was  highly 
impressive. 

"  All  right,  friend  o'  me  heart,"  and  Polly 
picked  Jimmie  up  in  her  arms.  "  Climb  up, 
Margery, — you'll  have  to  hold  Jimmie,  I 
guess.  Esther  can't,  of  course, — and  I  can't 
hold  him  and  drive,  too.  Here,  take  him." 

But   Margery  shrank   back.     Jimmie   was 


PUMPKINS  167 

i 

fat,  and  rather  dirty,  and  very  restless.  She 
had  not  enjoyed  his  proximity  on  the  way  to 
the  field,  and  she  did  not  relish  the  idea  of 
bumping  home  again,  over  the  rough  roads, 
in  the  springless  cart,  with  the  heavy  child  in 
her  lap.  Besides,  she  wanted  to  continue 
those  beautiful,  uplifting  thoughts  which  she 
had  had  in  the  corn-field  ;  and  how  is  one  to 
make  noble  plans  for  elevating  the  world  and 
making  one's  self  famous  with  a  squirmy 
child  in  one's  arms? 

"  We-1-1 "  she  began  lamely,  with  a 

critical  glance  at  the  front  of  Jimmie's  di- 
minutive blue  linen  blouse.  During  the  day 
Jimmie  had  eaten  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter 
and  molasses ;  had  made  some  delectable 
mud-pies ;  had  crawled  under  the  back 
kitchen  after  his  escaping  kitten  ;  had  bor- 
rowed some  coal  from  the  kitchen  with  which 
to  play  coal-man  ;  and  had  shared  its  kennel 
with  the  watch-dog ;  to  which  facts  his  attire 
bore  circumstantial  evidence. 

Esther,  hardened  by  custom  to  Jimmie's 
decorations,  and  conscious  that  twice  a  day 
he  arose  pearly-white  from  the  bath-tub, 
caught  the  expression  of  distaste  on  Margery's 


1 68          MARGERY  MORRIS 

face,  fleeting  as  it  was,  and  her  pride  took  fire 
at  once.  Was  the  pride  and  darling  of  the 
House  of  Crowell  to  be  flaunted  by  a  chit  of 
a  girl  from  California  ?  Never.  "  Give  him 
to  me,  Polly,"  she  said  imperiously.  "  /  will 
hold  him.  I  wouldn't  think  of  allowing  any- 
body else  to  do  it." 

Polly  looked  puzzled.  "  Why,  what's 
struck  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  don't  think 
that  you  ought  to  hold  him,  Esther.  You 
might  drop  him.  Why  don't  you  let  Mar- 
gery hold  him  ?  " 

If  such  a  thing  had  been  possible,  big- 
hearted  Polly  would  willingly  have  dandled 
the  inmates  of  an  entire  orphan  asylum  on 
her  knee,  and  filled  in  the  chinks  between 
children  with  half  the  lame  puppies  and  stray 
cats  in  the  county. 

But  Esther  was  not  to  be  moved.  "  No, 
Polly,  I'll  hold  Jimmie,"  she  persisted.  "  I 
have  my  reasons,"  she  whispered,  nodding 
toward  Margery. 

Margery  knew  that  she  had  wounded  Es- 
ther by  her  evident  repugnance  to  the  adored 
Jimmie,  and  that  she  ought  to  make  amends 
by  cordially  offering  to  take  charge  of  him, 


PUMPKINS  169 

but  self  and  self  s  comfort  were  dear,  so  she 
merely  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  sat 
watching  a  distant  flock  of  sheep  with  a  re- 
markably detached  expression. 

Polly  whistled  softly.  "Oh,"  she  said, 
with  another  glance  at  Margery.  "  So  that's 
it,  is  it  ?  But  don't  be  silly,  Esther.  If  Mar- 
gery doesn't  want  to  hold  him,  he  can  sit  on 
the  seat  beside  her,  and  she  can  just  steady 
him,  so  that  he  won't  fall  off." 

Margery  felt  herself  grow  hot  with  embar- 
rassment ;  she  wished  that  she  had  said  cor- 
dially that  she  was  willing  to  hold  Jimmie ; 
but  now  perverseness  seemed  to  keep  her 
tongue-tied,  and  she  sat  silent,  looking  more 
detached  than  ever. 

Polly  made  a  final  attempt.  "  Do  be  sen- 
sible, Esther.  Of  course  Margery  wants  to 
hold  him  ;  you  don't  expect  her  to  rave  about 
it,  and  beg  for  it,  do  you  ?  You  want  to  hold 
Jimmie,  don't  you,  Margery  ?  " 

But  Margery  was  silent,  and  Esther  was  ada- 
mant. "  No,  I'll  hold  him,"  Esther  replied 
with  dignity,  a  hauteur  that  had  its  edge 
blunted  by  the  fact  that  Jimmie  himself  burst 
into  roars  of  grief.  "  I  wants  to  sit  wif  Mar- 


170          MARGERT  MORRIS 

gie ! "  he  howled.  "  I  wants  to  sit  wif 
Margie ! " 

The  social  atmosphere  was  somewhat  cool 
as  the  girls  started  on  the  homeward  journey. 
Esther  and  Polly  were  thoughtful,  and  Mar- 
gery sat  quiet,  ashamed  of  the  perverse  spirit 
which  had  betrayed  her  into  the  display  of 
selfishness,  and  seeking  to  justify  herself  in 
her  own  eyes  with  the  plea  that  Esther  and 
Polly  were  entirely  unreasonable. 

But  the  afternoon  was  too  beautiful  for  any- 
body to  harbor  hurt  feelings,  and  the  little 
strain  wore  away  as  the  girls  bumped  along 
the  road,  Esther  shrieking  like  a  steam  siren 
every  time  that  a  rut  sent  the  pumpkins  roll- 
ing against  her,  and  Jimmie,  in  her  arms, 
laughing  as  though  it  were  the  greatest  joke 
that  had  ever  happened.  "  Sing,  Margery," 
Polly  commanded,  and  Margery  started  "  My 
Bonnie  lies  over  the  ocean."  Esther  and 
Polly  joined  in,  and  even  Jimmie  lifted  up  his 
shrill  little  pipe  in,  "  Hey  diddle,  cat  V  fid- 
dle," to  a  tune  of  his  own  invention. 

"  Oh— isn't— this— fun  !  "  chanted  Polly. 
"Is — is — isn't — it — a — lark?"  And  indeed, 
as  it  was  of  their  own  volition  that  they  were 


PUMPKINS  171 

rattling  over  a  rough  road  in  a  springless  cart, 
they  found  it  a  joyous  adventure.  If  any 
stern  teacher  or  parent  had  required  such  a 
thing  from  them  they  would  have  thought 
themselves  most  cruelly  used. 

"  When  first  I  saw  sweet  Margery,"  warbled 
Polly,  "  'twas  on  a  market  day.  A  low-backed 
car  she  rode  in Whoa !  Spy  !  Whoa  1 " 

"  Aha  !  We've  caught  you,  girls  !  "  shouted 
Dick  and  Sam,  who  had  jumped  from  behind 
the  hedge,  and  were  prancing  beside  the  cart 
like  a  couple  of  wild  Indians.  "  We've  caught 
you, — pumpkins  for  jack-lanterns.  Gee  whili- 
kens,  Esther!  Are  you  hurt?" 

Spy  had  reared  suddenly,  and  Esther,  Jim- 
mie,  and  the  pumpkins  lay  in  an  ignominious 
heap  on  the  ground. 

Esther  sat  up  and  rubbed  her  elbow.  A 
long  smear  of  crushed  pumpkin  was  on  her 
right  cheek,  and  shreds  of  yellow  decorated 
her  from  head  to  foot.  Around  her  lay  the 
pumpkins,  broken  and  split  open  by  their 
fall,  with  their  long  strings  of  seeds  spilled  out 
in  the  dusty  road.  "  No,  I'm  only  surprised," 
she  declared  ;  then,  shaken  and  a  little  hys- 
terical from  her  tumble,  she  began  to  laugh. 


172          MARGERT  MORRIS 

Reassured  the  others  joined  in.  "  When 
first  I  saw  sweet  Esther,"  gasped  Dick,  "  'twas 
on  a  market  day — a  low-backed  car — she  fell 
out  of — upon— a  load  of  pumpkins  !  " 

"  Elizabeth,  Eliza,  Betsy  and  Bess,"  chimed 
in  Sam,  "  all  went  out  to  rob  a  pumpkin 
field " 

But  Esther  had  stopped  laughing,  and  was 
leaning  anxiously  over  Jimmie.  "  Jimmie, 
dear,"  she  implored,  giving  him  a  little  shake. 
"  Open  your  eyes  and  look  at  Sister,  dear." 

But  the  big  blue  eyes  did  not  open. 

Frightened,  Esther  looked  up  at  the  others. 
"  Something  is  wrong,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

Polly  jumped  down  from  the  cart.  "  Baby 
dear,"  she  implored,  bending  over  the  uncon- 
scious little  form,  "  wake  up — oh,  do  wake 
up!" 

But  Jimmie  lay  white  and  still. 

Terror-stricken,  the  children  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  Oh,  Jimmie,  Jimmie,"  wailed  Esther. 

"  We'll  have  to  get  a  doctor  as  soon  as  we 
can,"  said  Sam,  practically. 

As  though  in  answer  to  his  words,  Dr.  Hus- 


PUMPKINS  173 

ton,  returning  from  his  call,  turned  into  the 
lane  from  the  crossroad  ahead  of  them. 

"  Oh,  there's  the  doctor  now,"  shouted 
Dick.  "  Hey,  doctor,  wait !  " 

The  doctor  drove  on. 

"  Hey  1     Wait !  " 

Polly  ran  to  the  front  of  the  cart,  and  scram- 
bled up  beside  Margery,  who  had  sat  still 
throughout  the  accident,  frozen  with  horror. 
"  I'll  get  him,"  she  cried.  "  He's  too  deaf  to 
hear  us, — but  I'll  overtake  him  !  " 

She  whirled  her  whip  around  Spy,  and  Spy 
humped  his  back,  and  rocked  a  little  in  imi- 
tation of  a  gallop,  then  settled  down  into  hig 
every-day,  steady  jog.  The  doctor  heard  the 
approaching  hoof-beats,  and  looked  around. 

"  Aha  !  I'll  beat  you  again,"  he  shouted  as 
he  recognized  Polly,  and  he  whipped  up  his 
horse. 

11  Doctor !     Doctor !     Wait  I     Please  wait  I  " 

The  doctor  heard  the  shouts  this  time,  but 
he  was  too  deaf  to  catch  the  words.  "  Don't 
get  ahead  of  the  old  man  this  time,  you 
don't !  "  he  yelled  back  gayly. 

"  He  thinks  we  are  trying  to  race  him," 
wailed  Margery. 


174         MARGERT  MORRIS 

Harder  came  the  whip  on  Spy's  back.  Spy 
rocked  again,  but  his  rival  was  gaining, 

"  Doctor  I  "  shrieked  Polly,  standing  up  in 
her  eagerness.  "  Wait !  Wait !  " 

Her  voice  could  not  carry  over  the  widen- 
ing distance  between  the  vehicles,  and  leaning 
out  for  a  mocking  wave  of  his  hand  back  at 
them,  the  doctor  whirled  around  a  bend  in 
the  road.  "  I  beat  you  again  !  "  he  roared,  as 
he  disappeared. 

Again  the  whip  came  lashing  down  on 
Spy's  back,  but  to  no  purpose. 

"  It's  no  use,"  sighed  Polly,  as  she  pulled 
Spy  in,  and  began  to  back  the  cart  into  a 
clump  of  elder-bushes,  in  order  to  turn  in  the 
narrow  lane.  "  We  had  better  go  back,  and 
see  if  there  is  anything  we  can  do." 

"  Oh,  Polly,"  Margery  wailed,  "  if  only  I 
had  held  Jimmie  all  this  wouldn't  have  hap- 
pened. It's  all  my  fault." 

"  We  mustn't  think  about  that  now," 
Polly  answered  quietly.  "  We  are  all  to 
blame." 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  think — I  must  do  some- 
thing !  Polly  I  I  can  see  the  doctor  going 
along  the  road  now,  there  where  it  has  turned 


PUMPKINS  175 

so.  I  can  see  the  wheels  through  the  bushes 
— if  I  cut  across  the  fields  I  may  catch  him." 

At  the  risk  of  breaking  her  neck,  Margery 
jumped  down  from  the  cart,  and  diving 
through  the  elder-bushes,  hurled  herself  over 
the  worm-fence,  and  started  running  across  a 
wide  corner  of  the  fields  toward  the  road  along 
which  the  wheels  of  the  doctor's  carriage  were 
fast  disappearing.  The  fields  had  been  freshly 
plowed  for  wheat,  and  the  soft  earth  gave  with 
every  step.  Slipping,  stumbling,  falling  once 
her  full  length,  she  plunged  on.  Her  breath 
came  in  gasps,  and  as  with  every  step  forward 
she  seemed  to  fall  back  two,  she  felt  as  though 
a  knife  were  sticking  into  her  side.  But 
crueller  than  the  pain  was  the  agonizing 
thought  that  through  her  fault  little  Jimmie 
lay  dying,  dear  little  Jimmie.  .  .  .  She 
reached  the  other  side  of  the  field  and  with  a 
last  effort  she  crawled  through  the  fence.  As 
she  scrambled  to  her  feet  a  tall,  tattered  figure 
rose  from  the  tree-stump  where  he  had  been 
sitting.  With  a  faint  scream  Margery  stood 
stock-still  ;  he  had  already  been  pointed  out 
to  her  as  "  Loony  Joe  Morris,"  the  town  idiot. 

"  Oh,    Joe,"    she    panted,   recovering    her 


i/6          MARGERT  MORRIS 

courage,  "  catch  him  ! "  pointing  to  the  reced- 
ing carriage.  "  It's  the  doctor." 

"  Loony  Joe  "  looked  at  her,  his  head  on  one 
side.  "  Gimme  ten  pennies  ?  "  he  asked. 

Margery  nodded.     "  Yes,  yes, — anything." 

"  All  right, — I  catches  him  !  " 

With  a  shout,  Joe  started  down  the  road. 
"  Whoa,  there  I  Who-aaa  !  Whoaaa  !  " 

However  weak  Joe's  brain  might  be,  his 
legs  were  long  and  strong  and  there  was  a  dif- 
ference between  his  base  bellow  and  the  girls' 
little  soprano  shrieks.  As  he  gained  on  the 
carriage,  he  bellowed  lustily,  and  the  doctor 
stopped  and  looked  around. 

"  Come  back,"  ordered  Joe,  in  a  mighty 
roar.  "  The  gal  wants  you." 

"  What  girl  ?  " 

"  The  gal  back  there.  She  wants  you  bad," 
and  Joe  pointed  with  his  stubby  forefinger. 

Obligingly,  the  doctor  turned  around  and 
hurried  back  to  Margery,  Joe  gamboling  be- 
side the  carriage,  cheerily  shouting  about  his 
"  ten  pennies." 

"  What's  that  you  say,  child  ?  Little 
Jimmiie  hurt?  Bad  business,  a  bad  busi- 
ness I  "  ejaculated  the  doctor,  as  Margery  told 


PUMPKINS  177 

her  story.  "  Hop  right  in,  and  we  will  go 
back  to  him  as  quickly  as  we  can.  What's 
the  matter  with  you,  Joe  ?  What's  that  you're 
making  such  a  noise  about  ?  Oh,  your  '  ten 
pennies.'  Well,  here,  take  them." 

While  Margery  had  been  pursuing  the 
doctor,  Polly  had  gone  back  to  Jimmie.  She 
found  that  the  boys  had  carried  him  to  a  little 
grove  by  the  roadside,  where  a  tiny  brooklet 
meandered,  and  were  using  such  first  aids  as 
considerable  experience  of  mishaps  on  the 
football  field  had  taught  them.  By  the  time 
that  Margery  and  the  doctor  reached  him, 
Jimmie  was  beginning  to  come  to. 

The  doctor  felt  him  over  carefully.  "  Not 
a  bone  broken,"  he  said,  reassuringly.  "  But 
he's  had  a  bad  shaking  up,  and  been  stunned. 
I  don't  think,  though,  that  there's  any  injury 
to  the  head, — in  a  day  or  two  he'll  probably 
be  as  chipper  as  a  bug  in  a  rug." 

As  the  doctor  straightened  up,  Margery 
slipped  around  to  Esther  and  put  her  hand  on 
her  arm.  "  It  was  a-11  my  fault,"  she  said 
humbly.  "  I  ought  to  have  said  that  I  would 
hold  Jimmie." 

Esther's  face  was  white  and  strained,  but 


178          MARGERT  MORRIS 

she  managed  to  smile.  "  Why  no,  Margery, 
it  was  my  fault.  For  really  I  oughtn't  to 
have  been  so  silly  and  proud.  I  ought  to 
have  had  you  hold  him  whether  you  wanted 
to  or  not.  Yes,  doctor,  I'm  coming." 

"  Here,  Esther,"  commanded  the  doctor,  "  I 
want  you  to  drive  to  your  home  with  me  and 
Jimmie, — you'll  have  to  hold  him.  He's  go- 
ing to  be  all  right  now,  I  hope, — but  I  don't 
trust  you  children,"  with  a  glance  at  the 
crestfallen  group,  "  not  to  try  any  more  tricks. 

"  Oh,  cheer  up,  child,"  as  Esther  suddenly 
burst  into  tears.  "  You've  been  as  brave  as 
could  be, — and  now  you  want  to  frighten 
your  mother  into  fits  by  going  home  boo- 
hooing  like  that.  Climb  in,  child." 

Esther  gulped  her  tears  down  bravely,  and 
clambered  into  the  carriage.  Jimmie,  still 
rather  white  and  dazed,  was  put  in  her  lap, 
and  Dr.  Huston  tucked  the  lap  robe  around 
them. 

As  he  gathered  up  the  reins,  a  thought 
struck  him.  "  Why  under  the  sun,"  he  de- 
manded, "  when  you  children  saw  me  turn 
into  the  road  ahead  of  you,  didn't  you  make 
some  effort  to  stop  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THEY    VISIT   THE   CITY 

"  DEBORAH,"  began  Margery  that  evening 
after  supper,  "  did  you  ever  do  things  that 
you  wished  afterward  that  you  hadn't  done  ?  " 

Deborah  looked  up  from  the  splinter  she 
was  taking  out  of  Benjamin's  finger.  "  Haven't 
I  ?  "  she  laughed. 

"  I  mean  have  you  ever  kept  from  doing 
something — oh,  maybe  just  some  little  thing 
— for  somebody,  just  because  it  was  easier  not 
to  do  it,  and  then  been  sorry  that  you  hadn't 
done  the  something,  and  the  somebody  had 
gotten  hurt,  or  something  ?  " 

Deborah  caught  the  drift,  if  not  the  exact 
meaning  of  the  involved  sentence.  With  her 
kindly  understanding  she  realized  that  Mar- 
gery's spirit,  childishly  self-centered  though 
it  was,  was  beginning  to  ask  for  light. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  gently,  "  that  comes  to 
most  of  us,  I  guess.  Getting  old  would  be 
.179 


i8o          MARGERT  MORRIS 

the  loveliest  thing  I  know  if  it  wasn't  for 
that.  When  you  get  old  you  have  a  chance 
to  see  the  meanings  of  all  the  things  in  your 
life  that  have  seemed  so  hard,  and  so  un- 
necessary. And  you  find  out  that,  after  all, 
things  have  worked  out  for  the  best — it's 
real  fascinating — like  reading  in  a  November 
magazine  the  answers  to  the  puzzles  that  came 
out  in  the  May  numbers.  But  just  that  one 
thing  spoils  it ;  the  having  to  remember  all 
the  mean  little  things,  and  all  the  selfish  little 
things  you  have  done  !  There,  Benjie, — that 
splinter's  out  now ;  go  and  put  some  witch- 
hazel  on  your  finger.  There's  a  bottle  of  it 
on  the  little  table  in  my  room. 

"  Yes,  being  old,"  she  went  on,  as  Benjamin 
left  the  room,  "  would  be  the  loveliest  thing 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  memories  of  the  mean 
things  !  I  wish  I  could  just  go  up  and  down 
the  land  preaching,  like  some  of  those  fellows 
of  the  olden  times,  to  all  the  young  people, 
that  selfishness  doesn't  pay  one  little  bit,  and 
that  when  they  get  old  they  will  have  to  find 
it  out." 

Margery  made  no  answer,  and  rising,  Deb- 
orah brought  a  great  basket  of  stockings  to  be 


THET  VISIT  THE  CITY      181 

mended,  and  settled  down  again  in  the  glow 
of  the  lamp  to  finish  her  weekly  darning. 

"  Dear  me,  this  stocking  looks  as  though 
Benjamin  had  been  playing  with  a  wildcat. 
Margery,  you  are  so  sleepy  that  you  can 
scarcely  hold  your  eyes  open.  Are  all  your 
lessons  done?  Well,  then,  you  had  better  go 
to  bed  right  off.  Be  sure  to  gargle  your  throat 
well  with  the  salt  and  water, — I  don't  like 
the  way  your  cold  is  hanging  on." 

Almost  too  sleepy  to  make  the  effort, 
Margery  dragged  herself  out  of  the  chair,  and 
lighted  her  little  bedroom  lamp,  which  stood 
with  those  of  the  others  on  a  table  in  the 
corner.  With  a  gigantic  yawn  she  opened 
the  door,  and  turned  to  remind  Deborah  that 
she  was  to  have  hot  chocolate  for  breakfast. 
As  she  spoke  to  her,  something  in  the  patient 
weariness  of  the  little  housekeeper's  attitude 
as  she  sat  toiling  over  the  big  pile  of  stockings 
touched  her.  Unobservant  as  Margery  habit- 
ually was,  she  had  not  been  able  to  escape 
seeing  how  faithfully  Deborah,  but  ill-assisted 
by  the  farmer's  daughter  and  old  Thomas, 
and  burdened  by  the  inconveniences  of  the 
big,  badly  contrived  old  house,  worked,  from 


182          M4RGERT  MORRIS 

early  morning  until  late  at  night,  to  make 
the  little  family  comfortable. 

Margery  stood  stock-still  in  the  doorway, 
thinking ;  thanks  to  her  mother's  insistence, 
she  knew  how  to  mend  very  neatly, — should 
she  propose  to  assist  Deborah  with  the  darning 
on  the  morrow  ?  She  opened  her  lips  to 
speak  ;  still,  the  sacrifice  seemed  unnecessary, 
and  she  might  want  to  spend  to-morrow  after- 
noon with  Polly  ;  besides,  she  concluded,  darn- 
ing was  the  work  that  Deborah  was  paid  to  do. 
She  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  paused  again. 
"  I  suppose,"  she  thought  with  a  wry  little 
smile,  "  that  Deborah  really  does  lots  of  things 
for  us  that  she  isn't  paid  to  do, — things  she 
does  just  because  she  is  so  good-natured.  I 
suppose,  too,  Polly  would  call  my — my — 
having  other  plans  than  darning  a  case  of 
Agag  on  the  rampage." 

She  decided  to  compromise,  as,  alas,  we  so 
often  do.  Going  back,  she  opened  the  library 
door  and  stuck  her  head  into  the  room. 
"  Deborah,"  she  said  kindly,  "you  look  very 
tired — if  I  were  you  I'd  go  to  bed  early,  and 
get  a  good  night's  rest." 


THEY  V '1 SIT  THE  CITY      183 

There  was  destined  to  be  but  little  sleep  for 
Deborah  that  night.  Scarcely,  it  seemed  to 
her,  had  her  head  touched  the  pillow,  before 
she  was  awakened  by  somebody  shaking  her. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  muttered,  clutching  the 
bedclothes  tighter  under  her  chin,  "  it  is  not 
morning  yet." 

"  No,  no,"  whimpered  a  little  white  figure 
beside  the  bed  ;  "  wake  up  1  Do  please  wake 
up ! " 

"  Gracious  !  What  is  the  matter  ?  I  always 
knew  that  Dick,  the  way  he  reads  in  bed, 

would  set  something  on  fire "  Awake 

now,  Deborah  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  began 
to  fumble  for  matches. 

"  No,  it's  my  tooth,"  sobbed  Margery.  "  It's 
aching  so." 

"  Dear  me,  child,  why  didn't  you  say  so  at 
first  ?  My  sakes,"  she  continued,  as  she 
lighted  the  lamp,  "  what  are  you  doing  stand- 
ing there  in  your  bare  feet?  Get  right  back 
into  your  bed.  I'll  get  you  something  that 
will  stop  your  toothache  in  a  jiffy." 

A  quaint  little  figure  Deborah  looked  in 
an  old-fashioned  nightgown  that  made  up  for 
what  it  lacked  in  length  and  width  by  an 


1 84         MARGERY  MORRIS 

extraordinary  amount  of  goffered  ruffling 
about  the  neck  and  wrists.  But  to  Margery, 
although  we  suppose  that  angels  do  not 
usually  have  little  gray  pigtails  tied  with  a 
shoe-string,  she  seemed  an  angel  of  comfort  as 
she  deftly  tucked  her  up  in  bed  and  brought 
what  remedies  the  house  afforded. 

But  the  hot  iron  wrapped  in  newspaper, 
and  clapped^  to  her  feet;  the  bag  of  hot  salt 
applied  to  her  cheek  ;  the  wedge  of  cotton 
soaked  in  oil  of  cloves  and  plugged  into  the 
aching  tooth  ;  the  hot  drink  to  send  her  into 
a  perspiration  ;  even  the  final  remedy  recom- 
mended by  the  almanac,  a  mustard  plaster  on 
her  left  elbow,  all  failed. 

"  There's  nothing  for  it  but  the  dentist," 
sighed  Deborah  as  at  last  the  dawn,  not 
"  rosy -fingered,"  as  the  poets  have  it,  but 
pale  green,  leered  through  the  windows  at 
Margery's  swollen  jaw. 

Worn  out  by  the  pain  and  lack  of  sleep,  it 
was  a  very  woebegone  little  figure  that  Polly 
Jameson,  as  she  opened  her  shutters  the  next 
morning,  spied  sitting  on  the  horse-block  in 
front  of  the  house  of  her  neighbor,  the  den- 
tist. 


THEY  VISIT  THE  CITY      185 

"  Why,  Margery  Morris — whatever  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Polly,"  came  a  muffled  wail,  "  I'm 
nearly  dead.  I  didn't  sleep  a  wink  last  night, 
— except,  of  course,  sometimes.  And  now  the 
dentist  says  that  I've  got  to  go  up  to  the  city 
and  have  the  old  tooth  out  by  gas.  My  cold 
has  settled  in  my  tooth — it's  been  feeling 
rather  hurty — and  now  there's  an  abscess 
forming  at  the  root  of  it,"  she  explained 
wearily,  as  she  rose  and  stood  waiting  for  the 
carriage,  which  Dick  was  just  driving  up  to 
the  curbstone^ 

"  Gracious,  you  poor  darling,"  Polly  sympa- 
thetically commented,  in  her  interest  leaning 
out  of  the  window  at  a  perilous  angle.  "  What 
train  do  you  take  ?  "  she  added  as  Margery 
clambered  into  the  carriage. 

"  Nine-forty,"  called  back  Dick. 

"  Is  Deborah  going,  too  ?  " 

"  No,  she's  going  to  house-clean  to-day, — 
got  the  women  all  engaged  to  come  and  help. 
Besides,  Deborah  isn't  any  good  about  finding 

her  way  around  the  city  ;  she "  The  rest 

of  Dick's  remark  was  lost  as  the  carriage  turned 
the  corner. 


1 86          MARGERY  MORRIS 

Just  as  the  nine-forty  pulled  out  of  the 
station  there  was  a  commotion  at  the  back 
of  the  car  in  which  Margery  and  Dick  were 
sitting,  and  Sam  and  Polly,  breathless  and 
laughing,  plumped  down  into  the  seat  ahead 
\.  of  them. 

"  Well — we — got — here,"  panted  Polly,  fan- 
ning her  crimson  face  with  a  lace  collar. 
"  When — I — got — around — to  the — school  it 
was  closed  to  be  fumigated — the  Perkins  kid 
has  diphtheria — and  he  was  in  school  yester- 
day. So  I  just  tore  home,  and  begged  and 
begged  Mother  to  let  me  come — I  met  Sam  on 
the  way  home,  and  he  said  he'd  come,  too, 
— at  first  she  wouldn't  let  me — but  here  I 
be  !  Gracious  !  Look  at  the  lace  collar  I've 
brought  for  a  handkerchief!  Phew!"  and 
with  a  final  gasp  Polly  adjusted  her  hat  to  a 
less  perilous  angle  and  leaned  back. 

Margery  smiled  wanly  in  an  attempt  to 
show  her  appreciation  of  her  friend's  arrival 
and  Polly,  reawakening  to  the  tragedy  of  an 
aching  tooth,  insisted  on  changing  places  with 
Dick  and  tenderly  offered  her  somewhat  sharp 
shoulder  for  Margery  to  lean  her  head  upon. 
Exhausted  by  her  sleepless  night,  Margery 


THEY  VISIT  THE  CITY      187 

slept  by  fits  and  starts,  while  Polly  heroically 
sat  motionless  and  silent ;  neither  disturbing 
the  head,  which  grew  to  feel  so  heavy,  lean- 
ing against  her  shoulder,  nor  yielding  to  the 
temptation  of  joining  in  the  conversation  of 
the  boys  behind  her.  Not  until  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  railway  terminus  did 
Margery  rouse  herself,  and  turning  to  Polly 
ask  : 

"  Were  you  coming  up  to  the  city  anyway, 
Polly, — or  just  because  of  me  ?  " 

"Just  because  of  you,  m'love." 

Margery  was  thoughtfully  silent.  She  won- 
dered, had  the  case  been  reversed,  if  she  would 
have  even  thought  of  going  with  Polly,  much 
less  doing  it.  "  It  is  dear  of  you,"  she  said  at 
last,  with  conviction. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  Polly  answered,  as 
though  there  could  be  no  two  ways  about 
it,  "  I  oughtn't  to  have  let  you  come  alone 
with  just  Dick, — boys  don't  count,  anyway. 
It  would  have  been  awfully  dreary  for  you. 
Besides,  you  might  feel  nervous,  or  ill  from 
taking  the  gas, — mightn't  she,  Sam?"  she 
added  as  they  rose  to  leave  the  car. 

Sam  considered  the  question.     "  Yes,"  he 


1 88          MARGERY  MORRIS 

said  thoughtfully;  "plenty  of  people  have 
died  under  gas,  I  guess." 

A  reflection  which  Margery  found  scarcely 
cheering. 

When  they  reached  the  dentist's  office,  Sam 
and  Dick  left  the  girls  and  went  off  to  tele- 
phone to  Billy  Ball,  Dick's  cousin  on  the  Ball 
side,  who  was  at  college  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  and  Polly  accompanied  Margery  into  the 
little  room  where  the  dentist  stood  beside  his 
gas  machine.  Margery  had  had  a  tooth  out 
by  gas  before  so,  while  her  knees  wobbled 
somewhat  unmanageably  under  her,  she  was 
able  to  crawl  into  the  dental  chair  with  a 
passable  imitation  of  courage. 

"  Now,  think  of  something  pleasant,"  com- 
manded Dr.  Marshall,  the  big,  jolly-looking 
dentist,  as  he  put  the  cork  in  her  mouth. 
"And  now, — take  a  deep  breath, — slowly, 
slowly, — so " 

"  Sp — flu — my,"  spluttered  Margery,  a  min- 
ute later.  "  Why  don't  you  begin  ?  " 

"It's  out,"  laughed  Dr.  Marshall.  "But 
just  look  at  your  friend,"  and  he  nodded 
toward  Polly,  who,  with  her  face  as  white  as 
her  blouse,  her  hat  falling  off  the  back  of  her 


THEY  VISIT  THE  C1TT      189 

head,  her  eyes  screwed  tight  shut,  and  her 
mouth  open  with  sympathetic  howor,  sat 
waiting,  hands  over  her  ears,  for  the  ordeal 
to  be  over. 

"  I'll  have  to  get  you  to  take  care  of  me, 
Miss  Jameson,"  said  Dr.  Marshall,  still  laugh- 
ing, as  he  let  down  the  big  chair  and  helped 
Margery  out  of  it,  "  when  I  have  to  have  a 
tooth  out.  Now,  Miss  Morris,  you  had  better 
rest  for  a  while  in  the  other  room,  there,  and 
when  you  go  out,  keep  those  veils  of  yours 
on.  There's  a  raw  wind  blowing  to-day,  and 
you  don't  want  to  take  cold  in  your  face  just 
now.  Good-morning. " 

At  noon  the  boys  came  back  for  the  two 
girls,  bringing  Billy  Ball  with  them.  He  was 
a  larger  and  older  edition  of  Dick,  with  the 
same  mass  of  straight  light  hair,  handsome 
blue  eyes,  and  regular  features.  He  greeted 
Margery  kindly  from  the  superior  heights  of 
college  sophomoredom,  inquiring  how  she  left 
"  the  savages  out  West?  " 

"  Quite  as  well  as  she  has  found  them 
in  the  East,  I  imagine,"  Polly  answered  for 
her,  and  they  all  laughed. 

Not  a  bit  abashed,  Billy  pretended  to  be 


1 90          MARGERY  MORRIS 

immensely  impressed  by  Margery's  veils,  and 
insisted  on  addressing  her  as  "  Honored 
Madam,"  and  "  Reverend  Lady  "  all  the  way 
down  the  street  to  the  department  store, 
where,  after  some  discussion,  they  had  decided 
to  take  luncheon.  As  they  entered  the  store 
Billy  gravely  led  the  wondering  group  to  the 
veil  counter. 

"  I  wish  a  veil,"  he  announced  pompously 
to  the  salesgirl. 

"  Yes,  sir— what  kind  ?  " 

"  Not  one  for  myself, — I  seldom  wear  a 
veil." 

"Beg  pardon?" 

"  I  said  I  do  not  wish  a  veil  for  myself.  I 
want  one  for  my  grandmother." 

"Mesh  or  chiffon?" 

"  Eer— chiffon." 

"  Black,  I  suppose  ?  Here  is  a  very  good 
quality." 

"  Eer — no — not  black.  One  red,  and  one 
green.  My  grandfather — er — grandmother,  I 
mean,  usually — er — wears  two  veils  at  once." 

"  Beg  pardon  ?  " 

"  My  grandmother  usually  wears  two  veils 
at  once,"  repeated  Billy  politely.  "  Grand- 


THEY  VISIT  THE  CITY      191 

mother,"  turning  to  the  gasping  Margery, 
"  you  would  prefer  red  and  green,  would  you 
not  ?  " 

"Grandmother?"  exclaimed  the  salesgirl, 
with  an  involuntary  glance  at  Margery's  ab- 
breviated skirts. 

Billy  lowered  his  voice  confidentially,  and 
with  a  nod  toward  Margery,  tapped  his  fore- 
head suggestively.  "  Grandmother,— er — has 
a  little  trouble — er — er — she  has  a  little  weak- 
ness of  the  intellect.  As  she  insists  on  wear- 
ing short  skirts,  we — er — let  her  do  it,  but  we 
hide  her  ancient  face  with  veils." 

"  Ch-ch-sss,"  snickered  Polly,  hiding  her 
face  on  Margery's  shoulder. 

"  My  great-aunt,"  explained  Billy,  indicat- 
ing Polly,  "  is  very  sensitive  on  the  subject  of 
my  grandmother's  affliction,  and — er — can 
seldom  hear  it  mentioned  without  tears.  You 
will  excuse  my  saying  anything  more,  under 
the  circumstances,  I  am  sure,"  and  with  a 
stately  bow,  Billy  led  his  hysterical  flock 
toward  the  elevator,  while  the  giggling  sales- 
girl murmured  something  about  "  somebody 
else  having  a  little  weakness  of  the  intellect." 

After  luncheon  the  problem  of  what  to  do 


i92          MARGERY  MORRIS 

next  arose.  There  was  only  an  hour  and  a 
half  before  train  time  ;  too  little  time  to  go  to  a 
matinee,  and  too  long  to  spend  waiting  in  the 
station.  The  boys  wanted  to  go  to  a  ma- 
chinery show  in  progress  in  the  city,  but  Polly 
was  firm  on  that  score. 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  declared,  "  not  much  ! 
I've  enough  wheels  in  my  head  now,  without 
going  and  looking  at  any  more.  Let's  go  and 
see  the  fashion  parade  on  the  dressmaking 
floor.  They  have  a  bride  and  bridesmaids  all 
dressed  up,  and  Sarah  Morton  says  they  are 
perfectly  sweet, — she  saw  them  day  before 
yesterday." 

"  Save  us ! "  protested  Dick  and  Billy  in 
chorus,  while  Sam  explained  that  he  didn't 
have  to  see  any  fashion  show,  as  his  sisters 
had  already  decided  that  his  new  gown  was  to 
be  made  of  "  egg-plant  purple  bombazine, 
trimmed  with  bias  peplums  and  plackets,  cut 
a  la  leg-o'-mutton." 

"  There's  Independence  Hall,"  put  in  the 
waitress,  who  had  been  highly  entertained  at 
their  jokes  and  nonsense.  "  If  you  are 
strangers  in  the  city,  why  don't  you  go  there  ? 
Most  folks  do." 


THET  V IS IT  THE  CITY      193 

"  I'm  afraid  we've  all  seen  it,"  Dick  ex- 
plained. 

"  Grandmother  hasn't,"  Sam  reminded  him. 

Margery  was  tired  and  growing  rather  cross. 
"  Grandmother  doesn't  want  to  see  it,"  she  ob- 
jected. "  It's  nothing  but  an  old  red-brick 
building  anyway.  I've  seen  lots  of  pictures 
of  it." 

Polly  answered  her  soothingly,  as  she  would 
a  querulous  child.  "  Oh,  yes,  Margery,  you 
will  enjoy  it  ever  so  much  when  you  get 
there.  If  you  don't  we'll  think  you  don't 
deserve  to  have  it  to  look  at,  and  that  you 
just  ought  to  look  at  a  king, — like  a  cat." 

Sam  laughed,  and  Polly  repeated  her  last 
sentence  with  a  teasing  smile. 

Margery  stood  up  and  stared  at  Polly  icily. 
"  I  think  that  you  are  very  provincial,"  she 
said  haughtily. 

Far  from  being  crushed,  Polly  crossed  her 
eyes  and  wiggled  her  ears,  an  unladylike  ac- 
complishment of  which  she  was  proud. 

"  Come  on,  you  children,"  exclaimed  Billy, 
hastily  tipping  the  waitress,  and  herding  his 
obstreperous  charges  together  for  the  descent 
to  the  street.  "  Cut  it  out,  girls." 


I94          M4RGERT  MORRIS 

"  Yeth,  girlth,  do,"  lisped  Sam,  hiding  his 
face  in  affected  horror.  In  the  midst  of  his 
horror  he  collided  with  a  fat  man,  who  glared 
at  him  with  genuine  indignation. 

"  Now  then,  behave  yourselves,  everybody," 
commanded  Billy,  as  they  reached  the  ele- 
vator. ''What  shall  it  be,  Margery?  Ma- 
chinery, fashion,  or  history  ?  We  bow  to  your 
wishes." 

Margery  hated  being  laughed  at,  and  she 
was  thoroughly  irritated  at  Polly's  teasing 
manner,  but  pride  came  to  her  rescue,  and 
she  said  sweetly,  "  Thank  you,  Billy, — I  think 
I'll  take  history." 

Polly  slipped  her  arm  through  Margery's. 
"  I  was  mean  to  tease  you,"  she  whispered, 
repentantly.  "  But  really,  Margery,  you're 
such  a  nice  little  canary  bird  when  you  get 
mad  and  ruffle  your  feathers." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   DEAF-MUTES 

IN  spite  of  her  weariness,  and  her  antici- 
pated disdain  of  the  "  old  red-brick  building," 
Margery  became  enthusiastic  over  its  serene 
and  mellow  beauty.  After  the  busy  crowded 
street,  with  its  throng  of  gay,  well-dressed 
shoppers  and  hurrying  business  men,  the  cries 
of  the  flower-venders  along  the  curbs,  the 
noise  of  automobile-horns  and  clanging  trol- 
ley-gongs, entering  the  quiet,  old  building, 
with  its  air  of  settled,  dignified  sadness, 
seemed  to  her  like  stepping  back  into  another 
and  long-ago  time.  The  rear  door  of  the  echo- 
ing, brick-paved  entrance  hall  was  standing 
open  ;  through  it  she  could  see  the  square 
with  its  big  old  trees,  the  dried  leaves  of 
which  were  being  whirled  along  the  paths 
and  hurried  into  quiet  corners  by  the  au- 
tumnal wind. 

"  Polly,"  she  said  softly,  looking  about  her, 
"it  is  beautiful,  isn't  it?" 

195 


196          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  Isn't  it?  "  agreed  Polly.  "  I  should  think 
that  it  would  seem  particularly  thrilling  to 
you  after  you've  come  all  the  way  across  the 
continent.  To  see  this  after  you've  seen  how 
huge,  and — and — well,  how  wonderful  the 
country  is,  must  seem  like  seeing  the  acorn 
after  you  have  seen  the  gigantic  oak  that 
grew  from  it." 

Arm  in  arm,  they  strolled  into  the  signers' 
room.  Before  the  historic  desk  there  stood  a 
thin,  little  work-worn  woman  whose  accent 
announced  her  to  be  from  some  of  the  south- 
ern mountains. 

"  To  think  of  we-all's  seein'  it,"  she  was 
saying  in  a  hushed  voice  to  the  daughter  on 
whose  arm  she  leaned.  "  To  think  of  seein' 
the  table  on  which  it  was  writ." 

The  two  girls  smiled  at  her  sympathetically, 
and  she  went  on,  turning  to  them.  "  It  does 
you  good,  don't  it,  to  see  the  pictures  of  all 
them  men  up  there,"  waving  her  hand  toward 
the  portraits  of  the  signers.  "  Makes  you  feel 
right  down  patriotic,  an'  like  you  wanted  to 
do  something  to  be  worth  your  salt.  I  guess 
it  would  do  a  lot  of  good  to  plenty  of  the  in- 
habitants of  this  here  country  if  they'd  come 


THE  DEAF-MVTES  197 

and  gaze  at  them  pictures  for  a  spell.  They 
was  men,  the  livin'  models  of  those  pictures 
was,  that  wasn't  afraid  to  risk  their  lives  for 
their  country.  In  these  days,  I  do  declare, 
people  are  perfectly  willin'  to  risk  their 
country's  salvation  for  their  ease  an'  profit." 

"  Yes,"  said  Polly  ;  "  one  of  those  old  sign- 
ers, I  think  it  was  Franklin,  said,  '  We'll  all 
have  to  hang  together, — or  else  we'll  hang 
separately.' ' 

The  old  woman  was  delighted.  "  Well, 
aren't  you  bright ! "  she  said  admiringly. 
"  To  think  of  your  knowing  that.  How's 
that  it  goes,  '  We'll  all  have  to  hang  to- 
gether'?" 

"  Come  on,  you  girls,"  interrupted  Dipk ; 
"  how  long  are  you  going  to  stand  mooning 
here,  looking  at  that  old  desk?  We've  been 
waiting  for  you  out  in  the  hall  for  an  age." 

"  Come  on  up-stairs,  Margery,"  said  Polly. 
"  I'll  show  you  the  portrait  there  of  the  most 
adorable  young  Frenchman,  who  came  over 
and  helped  fight  in  the  Revolution.  See  if 
you  aren't  crazy  about  him." 

They  climbed  the  stairway  and  entered  the 
room  where  hung  the  portrait  of  Polly's 


198          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"adorable"  Frenchman.  Margery  admired 
him  properly,  and  even  Sam  and  Dick  were 
prevailed  upon  to  say  that  he  was  not  "  so 
bad  for  a  Frenchie  "  before  they  wandered  off 
in  search  of  more  congenial  diversion  than 
gazing  at  the  portraits  of  long-dead  generals 
and  statesmen. 

"  Run  away,  Margie,  and  amuse  yourself," 
smiled  Polly.  "  I  like  to  stand  here  and 
imagine  things  about  my  Frenchman, — just 
think,  he  so  young,  and  I  know  he  was  brave. 
Some  day  I  want  to  put  him  in  a  story ; 
wouldn't  that  be  fun?  Billy's  in  the  ball- 
room, I  think,"  and  she  turned  back  to  the 
pictured  face  whose  boyishness  and  charm 
had  so  captured  her  imagination. 

Margery  found  Billy  standing,  hands  be- 
hind his  back,  and  head  bent  in  deep  contem- 
plation, at  the  doorway  of  the  long  banquet- 
hall.  "  Hello,  Margery,"  he  said  absently  ; 
"  where  are  the  others?  I  was  just  thinking 
of  all  the  things  this  old  room  has  seen.  All 
the  belles  and  beaux  that  used  to  dance  here 
in  the  Colonial  days,  and  the  anxious  meet- 
ings that  were  held  here  when  the  Revolu- 
tion first  began.". 


THE  DEAF-MUTES  199 

"  And  the  wounded  that  lay  here,"  put  in 
Margery,  who  had  been  reading  a  sign  before 
one  of  the  fireplaces.  "  This  sign  says  that 
the  wounded  were  brought  in  here  after  the 
Battle  of  Germantown." 

"There  wasn't  room  for  the  American 
wounded  anywhere  in  Germantown, — there 
were  so  many  Redcoats  to  be  looked  after 
there.  But  the  Continentals  had  a  grewsome 
kind  of  consolation  for  their  long,  jolting  ride. 
The  doctor  at  work  in  here  was  a  more  skilful 
one  than  the  old  saw-bones  operating  out  in 
Germantown,  and  he  was  able  to  cut  off  their 
legs  and  arms  in  half  the  time  that  it  took 
the  enemy  to  lose  theirs.  That  meant  a  lot, 
I  guess,  in  those  old  days  before  anaesthetics 
were  discovered,"  and  Billy,  who  had  recently 
made  a  round  of  the  city  hospitals  with  a 
medical  friend,  shuddered  at  the  thought. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Billy  and  the  girls 
were  dreaming  of  the  past,  Dick  and  Sam, 
whose  bumps  of  reverence  were  small,  and  to 
whom  Independence  Hall  was  an  old  story, 
were  looking  about  for  some  mischief  with 
which  to  while  away  the  time.  The  quest 
was  discouraging. 


200          MARGERY  MORRIS 

At  length  a  group  about  the  Liberty  Bell, 
where  a  pompous  little  man  was  explaining 
all  about  the  relic  to  his  open-mouthed  fam- 
ily, suggested  a  means.  Worming  their  way 
close  to  the  glass  case  surrounding  the  bell 
the  boys  commenced  to  gesticulate  violently  in 
what  they  pretended  to  be  the  deaf  and  dumb 
language.  At  first  no  one  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  them  and  their  efforts,  and  they  were 
about  to  slink  discreetly  out  of  sight,  when 
the  daughter  of  the  pompous  little  man  es- 
pied them. 

"  Oh,  Ma ! "  she  exclaimed  in  a  shrill 
whisper.  "  Just  look  at  them  two  !  They're 
talking  with  their  fingers." 
""*"  Ain't  it  a  pity  ?  "  answered  Ma.  "  Two 
such  likely-looking  young  fellers,  too  1  Your 
Aunt  Mame's  first  husband's  nephew  was  a 
deef-mute, — she  was  light  complected,  too." 

"  Mother  I  "  demanded  the  self-appointed 
interpreter  of  the  Liberty  Bell,  "  are  you  and 
Edith  goin'  to  listen  to  what  I  am  tellin' 
you, — you  won't  get  somebody  every  day 
who'll  be  able  to  tell  you  as  much  as  I  do, — 
or  are  you  goin'  to  spend  your  time  gawkin' 
at  them  mutes?" 


THE  DEAF-MUTES  201 

After  that  the  boys  shared  honors  with  the 
Liberty  Bell.  A  bride  and  groom  stopped 
thinking  about  themselves  and  each  other 
long  enough  to  gaze  at  them  with  pitying 
eyes.  "  Poor  things,"  sighed  the  bride,  "  isn't 
it  too  bad  ?  They  are  so  good-looking,  too." 

Flattered  at  the  comments,  and  inwardly 
convulsed,  Sam  and  Dick  continued  to  gestic- 
ulate, their  faces  monuments  of  solemnity 
and  impassiveness.  Billy  and  the  girls,  com- 
ing down  the  stairway,  were  astonished  to  see 
them  in  the  hall  below,  apparently  undergo- 
ing a  species  of  fit  to  the  evident  interest  of 
the  group  around  them. 

"What's  the  matter  with  them?"  asked 
Polly  anxiously. 

"Don't  know,"  answered  Billy.  "Oh, 
great  Scott  I  I  see, — they're  pretending  to  be 
deaf  and  dumb.  Come  on ;  we  won't  have 
time  to  stop  and  watch  them.  We've  got  to 
hurry,"  he  added  in  a  louder  tone,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  boys. 

They  took  the  hint,  and  trailed  after  Billy 
and  the  girls,  at  a  discreet  distance,  as  they 
left  the  building. 

The  trip  across  the  river  in  the  slow-mov- 


202 

ing,  clumsy  ferry-boat  was  enlivened  by  more 
deaf  and  dumb  language.  Fearful  lest 
Polly's  unrestrained  giggles  should  give  them 
away,  the  boys  sat  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
party,  reveling  in  the  comments  of  the  sym- 
pathetic passengers. 

"  Quit  your  fooling,  now,  you  fellows,"  or- 
dered Billy  as  he  said  good-bye  at  the  train 
steps.  "  You've  worked  the  joke  long 
enough.  Take  care  of  the  girls,  and  don't  let 
our  wild  Western  friend  frighten  the  natives." 

But  the  boys  found  the  joke  too  good  to 
give  up,  and  after  having,  with  much  sign 
language,  deposited  the  girls  in  a  seat,  they 
retired  to  the  end  of  the  car,  where  they  could 
sit  facing  the  other  passengers. 

"  I  wish  they'd  stop,"  sighed  Margery. 
"  Their  carryings  on  seemed  funny  at  first, — 
but  I'm  tired  of  it  now.  A  joke  that's  dead  is 
so  awfully  dead  !  " 

Polly  agreed  with  her,  but  laughed  in  spite 
of  herself  when  a  tired-looking  woman  with  a 
whiney  little  boy  hailed  the  boys'  advent  with 
joy,  and  urged  her  small  son  to  "  sit  up  like  a 
little  gentleman,  now,  and  watch  thedummies." 

"  Oh,  look,  Polly,"  said  Margery,  who  sat 


THE  DEAF-MUTES  203 

next  to  the  window,  "  see  those  pretty  girls 
out  there  on  the  platform  !  Hasn't  that  taller 
one  got  a  stunning  hat  ?  " 

Polly  leaned  across  Margery,  and  peered  out 
of  the  window.  "  My  child,"  she  said  sol- 
emnly, "  I  shan't  die  happy  until  I  have  a 
bonnet  equally  beautiful.  Oh,  they're  com- 
ing in  here.  They  had  better  hurry ;  the 
train's  beginning  to  move  now." 

The  two  pretty,  modishly  attired  young  girls 
whose  appearance  they  had  been  admiring 
entered  the  car,  followed  by  a  tall  negro  in  a 
chauffeur's  livery,  who  put  down  their  hand- 
some traveling  bags  in  the  aisle  beside  them, 
and  hurriedly  left  the  starting  train.  How- 
ever much  they  might  condescend  to  the  girls 
of  their  own  age,  Dick  and  Sam  were  begin- 
ning to  take  a  great  interest  in  girls  a  year  or 
two  older  than  themselves,  and  they  were  im- 
mensely impressed  by  the  evident  fashion  and 
wealth  of  the  young  ladies.  With  admiration 
they  gazed  at  them,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
prettier  of  the  two  girls  threw  a  casual  glance 
in  their  direction  that  they  remembered  their 
reason  for  selecting  such  a  conspicuous  place 
in  the  car.  They  looked  at  each  other  ques- 


204          MARGERY  MORRIS 

tioningly ;  it  was  one  thing  to  act  before  the 
"  rubes,"  as  they  dubbed  the  other  passengers, 
quite  another  to  perform  before  these  dainty 
creatures.  But  catching  Polly's  eye,  which 
winked  derisively  at  them,  they  took  up  the 
farce  with  renewed  vigor. 

The  train  rattled  along  over  switches  and 
crossings,  and  the  passengers  settled  down  to 
their  evening  newspapers,  or  idly  to  watching 
the  uninteresting  landscape  from  the  car  win- 
dows ;  suddenly  a  sweet,  high  voice  rang  out 
above  the  rumbling  of  the  train. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  it  said ;  "  look  at  those 
deaf-mutes.  Poor  things." 

"  Yes,"  answered  another  voice,  sweeter  and 
higher,  "  poor  things." 

Sam  and  Dick  perceived  that  the  speakers 
were  the  two  pretty  girls,  and  gesticulated 
violently. 

"  Isn't  it  dreadful,  Helen  ? — How  I  do  pity 
them  I "  went  on  the  first  speaker,  while  the 
boys  fairly  outdid  themselves.  "  It's  bad 
enough  to  be  so  terribly  afflicted, — and  then 
to  look  so  frightful !  " 

The  boys  stopped  gesticulating  in  astonish- 
ment. 


THE  DEAF-MUTES  205 

"Isn't  it  dreadful?"  agreed  Helen.  "I 
don't  think  such  people  ought  to  be  allowed 
to  go  around,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Mercy  no  I  It  gives  me  the  creeps, — why, 
just  look  at  the  nose  of  the  bigger  one !  " 

Dick,  who,  in  spite  of  his  carelessness,  was 
proud  of  his  blond  good  looks,  turned  red. 
Involuntarily,  he  started  to  feel  of  his  nose, 
then  remembering  that  he  was  supposed  to  be 
deaf,  and  therefore  unconscious  of  the  conver- 
sation, plunged  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"  But  really,  my  dear,"  went  on  Helen, 
"  ghastly  looking  as  he  is,  he  doesn't  seem  to 
me  to  be  quite  as  bad  as  the  other  one, — he  has 
such  a  deceitful  face !  There  is  an  awfully 
crafty  look  about  his  eyes, — they  say  those 
very  round  blue  eyes  usually  do  belong  to  de- 
ceitful, unscrupulous  people.  You  can  just 
imagine  that  boy  deceiving  people,  and  enjoy- 
ing it !  I  should  be  afraid  of  him, — even 
worse  than  of  the  other.  Isn't  it  dreadful  that 
they  should  look  so,  when  they  are  so  afflicted 
already  ?  " 

Her  clear,  carrying  voice  rang  out  through 
the  car,  and  during  her  speech  there  had  been 
a  general  craning  of  necks  to  look  at  the  af- 


206          MARGERY  MORRIS 

flicted  ones.  The  afflicted  ones  turned  scarlet, 
and  shuffled  their  feet,  and  cleared  their 
throats  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  regain  their 
composure.  Sam,  his  cherubic  countenance 
the  color  of  a  ripe  tomato,  glanced  furtively 
at  Polly  and  Margery  to  see  if  they  had  heard. 
They  had.  With  their  arms  clasped  around 
each  other  they  were  shaking  with  convulsive 
joy.  That  was  too  much  for  poor  Sam  ;  jump- 
ing to  his  feet  he  made  for  the  smoking  car. 
Finding  himself  about  to  be  deserted,  Dick 
looked  sheepishly  about  him,  then  plunged 
after  his  fellow  conspirator,  the  beads  fairly 
standing  out  on  his  crimson  forehead.  But 
Dick  was  of  the  stuff  that  dies  gamely.  As  he 
passed  his  two  pretty  critics,  he  held  his  head 
high,  and  with  the  utmost  dignity  carried  on 
a  finger  conversation,  quite  oblivious  to  the 
fact  that  his  fellow  mute  had  his  back  to  him, 
and  could  not  see  it.  Polly  and  Margery  he 
discreetly  avoided  looking  at  at  all. 

As  the  door  banged  after  the  boys,  the 
prettier  of  the  two  strangers  moved  back  to 
the  seat  in  front  of  Polly  and  Margery.  "  You 
are  Margaret  Morris,  aren't  you  ?  "  she  began. 
"  Dick  Ball's  cousin,  Billy  Ball,  told  me  to 


THE  DEAF-MUTES  207 

speak  to  you.  He  said  I'd  know  you  by  the 
veils.  I  do  hope  that  we  didn't  hurt  the  feel- 
ings of  those  poor  boys.  But,"  she  added  with 
a  laugh,  "  Billy  put  us  up  to  it." 

"  Oh,  goody,"  giggled  Polly,  "  we  might 
have  guessed." 

"  Yes,  my  brother,  Harry  White,  is  Billy's 
roommate  at  college,  so  of  course  I  know  him 
pretty  well,  and  so  does  my  cousin, — the  girl 
with  me.  We  met  Billy  outside  of  the  station, 
and  he  stopped  us — we  pretty  nearly  missed 
the  train,  too — to  tell  us  those  boys  were  try- 
ing to  make  fun  of  the  country  people  in  the 
car, — and  he  dared  us  to  get  back  at  them. 
We  did,  didn't  we?  But  I  do  hope,"  she 
finished,  wiping  the  tears  of  mirth  from  her 
eyes,  "  that  we  didn't  hurt  their  feelings.  If 
we  didn't  have  to  get  off  at  the  next  station 
I'd  like  to  apologize  to  them." 

Margery  and  Polly  assured  her  as  well  as 
they  could  for  the  peals  of  laughter  which 
overcame  them  that  they  knew  it  had  been 
an  episode  of  great  and  lasting  benefit  to  the 
boys. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  I'M    SORRY,  DICK  " 

DEBORAH  was  immensely  entertained  at 
Margery's  account  of  the  day  in  the  city,  and 
of  the  trip  home,  especially.  "  Dear  me,  who 
would  have  thought  that  a  toothache  would 
have  brought  you  so  much  fun  ?  "  she  com- 
mented. "  That's  usually  the  way  with 
pleasure  or  happiness,  though, — you  find 
them  in  all  sorts  of  unexpected  places.  And 
you  don't  find  them  where  you  think  you're 
going  to.  You  make  all  your  plans,  and  have 
an  appointment  to  meet  happiness  at  some 
particular  spot,  and  when  you  get  there, — it 
isn't  there !  The  same  way  with  pleasure. 
And  then,  some  time  when  you're  all  dis- 
couraged, and  have  given  up  hope  of  ever  see- 
ing happiness  again,  you  go  up  some  dreary 
little  alley  to  take  a  bowl  of  soup  to  some  poor 
woman,  or  you  just  turn  a  corner  in  your 
every-day  walk  of  life,  and  there  is  happiness 

208 


««/'Af  SORRT,  DICK'         209 

waiting  for  you  I  And  it  will  take  you  in  its 
arms  and  give  you  a  regular  bear-hug. 

"  Now,  how  did  you  say  Dick  looked  when 
the  girls  began  to  talk  about  his  nose?  I 
guess  it  didn't  hurt  him  any.  Dick's  pretty 
proud  of  that  nose !  To  tell  the  truth,  he's 
real  proud  of  his  looks  altogether, — and  he's 
getting  to  be  awfully  dressy  at  times.  Then 
again,  he'll  go  around  with  his  collar  looking 
like  a  Civil  War  relic,  or  his  hair  sticking  up 
like  a  wheat-field  in  a  wind-storm.  I  don't 
say  anything  to  him  about  it,  though  ;  Ben- 
jamin's hands  are  about  all  I'm  equal  to 
tackling." 

If  Margery  had  shared  her  enjoyment  of  the 
deaf  and  dumb  episode  with  Deborah  and 
Polly,  and  let  it  rest  there,  everything  would 
have  passed  off  happily  ;  unfortunately,  she 
insisted  on  pointing  out  to  Dick  how  excruci- 
atingly funny  it  had  been.  A  point  which 
Dick  preferred  to  overlook.  The  more  he 
tried  to  overlook  it,  the  more  dignified  he 
grew.  The  more  dignified  he  became,  the 
more  fun  Margery  found  in  teasing  him.  Be- 
sides, Margery  had  not  forgotten  the  day 
when  she  attempted  to  ride  Tempo  Wick,  and 


210         MARGERY  MORRIS 

how  absurd  her  appearance  must  have  been  as 
she  clung  to  the  saddle  with  one  foot  pointing 
toward  heaven  ;  or  how  Dick  had  seen  her 
slighted  by  the  girls  at  school,  and  it  was 
sweet  to  her  self-love  to  have  him  at  an  equal 
disadvantage.  Had  anybody,  however,  sug- 
gested to  her  that  such  was  her  state  of  mind, 
she  would  have  been  properly  indignant. 

In  vain  Deborah  hinted  that  the  masculine 
animal  hates  ridicule  worse  than  a  cat  hates 
water ;  in  vain  Dick  gave  her  a  stare  of  polite 
inquiry  whenever  she  moved  her  fingers  in 
ostentatious  dumb-show  ;  in  vain  he  requested 
her,  with  lofty  dignity,  to  "  stop  chortling  "  : 
Margery  persisted  in  rubbing  in  the  joke,  un- 
til by  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  she  and 
Dick  were  not  "  speaking  beyond  a  bow,"  as 
the  old  woman  said  of  her  neighbor. 

Deborah  tried  to  smooth  things  over  with- 
out avail,  and  there  was  general  relief  when 
Polly  arrived  to  ask  Margery  to  drive  with 
her. 

"  We'll  go  to  the  Crowells',"  Polly  explained 
as  they  turned  into  the  highway,  "  and  ask 
after  little  Jimmie,  and  then  Mother  wants 
me  to  take  these  two  bundles  of  clothes  to 


"I'M  SORRT,  DICK'          211 

some  poor  people  over  on  the  Pike.  We'll 
just  leave  them  at  the  doors,  and  not  go  in. 
And  then, — oh,  yes,  I  mustn't  forget  that ! — 
we'll  go  over  to  old  Mr.  Morris's  and  leave 
this  bottle  of  elderberry  wine  there.  Mother 
always  sends  some  to  sick  people, — and  Mr. 
Morris  has  been  very  ill.  He's  the  dearest  old 
gentleman,  Margery, — I  wish  that  you  knew 
him.  Old  people  are  awfully  nice, — when 
they  are  nice,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Polly,"  was  Margery's  abrupt  answer, 
"  what's  my  grandfather  like  ?  Is  he  nice  ?  " 

Polly  stammered  in  astonishment.  "  Why 
— w-why — d-don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  No,  not  really, — you  see,  I  haven't  seen 
him  since  I  was  eight.  He  was  awfully  sweet 
to  me  then,  and  he  always  sends  me  lovely 
things  for  Christmas  and  birthdays." 

"  Don't  you  get  letters  from  him  ? — letters 
always  tell  you  a  lot." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  you  learn  much 
from  letters.  Besides,"  she  added  rather 
shamefacedly,  "  I've  had  too  many  things  on 
hand  lately,  dancing  class,  and,  oh,  ever  so 
many  things,  to  do  much  letter  writing." 

Polly   looked    thoughtfully   at  a   crimson 


212          MARGERY  MORRIS 

sumach  bush.  "  Well,"  she  felt  her  way 
cautiously,  "  I  imagine  that  your  grandfather 
would  treat  you  differently  from  the  way  he 
does  the  boys.  He  sends  you  lovely  things, 
you  say,  for  Christmases  and  birthdays, — he 
doesn't  put  himself  out  much  over  Dick's 
birthdays !  He's  awfully  strict  with  Dick. 
Perhaps  he'll  be  different  with  a  girl.  But 
Dick  simply  doesn't  dare  to  spend  a  cent,  or 
to  do  a  thing,  without  asking  his  grandfather's 
permission  first.  Father  thinks  that  Dick 
has  the  making  of  a  very  fine,  manly  fellow, 
and  that  it's  a  pity  that  Mr.  Morris  doesn't 
let  him  have  more  liberty,  and  give  him  more 
chance  to  develop." 

"  A  letter  came  for  Dick  just  before  you 
came  to-day,"  Margery  remarked  pensively. 
"  It  was  from  Grandpapa,  I  know.  I  was 
dying  to  know  what  it  was  about.  Dick  has 
been  fussing  terribly  because  he  hasn't  had 
any  letters  from  Grandpapa.  The  first  thing 
that  boy  did  when  we  got  home  last  night  was 
to  ask  Deborah  if  any  letters  had  come  for 
him.  She  said  there  hadn't,  but  that  surely 
one  would  come  to-day,  and  that  probably 
Grandpapa  had  been  traveling  so  quickly 


«/'M  SORRT,  DICK'         213 

from  place  to  place  that  Dick's  letter  had 
been  some  time  in  catching  up  with  him. 
And  then  I  heard  her  say  something  about 
wishing  that  Dick  had  told  her  before  about 
something, — I  didn't  hear  what — but  as  he 
had  let  things  go  so  without  saying  anything, 
he'd  better  keep  on  waiting  to  hear  from 
Grandpapa,  and  then  he'd  know  definitely." 

Polly  was  interested.  "  That  does  sound 
mysterious.  But  it  probably  means  that 
Dick  wants  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  and  doesn't 
dare  to  order  them  until  he  hears  definitely 
from  his  grandfather." 

"  Maybe.  Dick  and  I  aren't  speaking.  Of 
course,  I  couldn't  ask  a  rude  boy  like  that  ques- 
tions until  he  apologizes.  Anyway,  I  wasn't 
supposed  to  have  heard  what  they  were  saying." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  help  Dick  with  his 
grandfather,"  Polly  suggested.  "  Mr.  Morris 
might  be  influenced  by  what  you  say.  I  feel 
rather  sorry  for  Dick  sometimes." 

Margery  looked  at  her  new  friend  with 
comic  despair.  "  Do  you  know,  Polly,  you 
are  always  thinking  about  helping  somebody. 
I  believe  that  you  are  awfully  good, — almost 
as  good  as  Mamma." 


214          MARGERY  MORRIS 

11  What  a  dreadful  thing  to  say  about  any- 
body," laughed  Polly.  "  But  really  we  all 
have  to  help  a  little  as  we  go  through  life. 
That  sounds  preachy,  I  know,"  and  Polly 
blushed  uncomfortably,  and  struck  at  a  way- 
side weed  with  her  whip,  "  but  it's  true,  never- 
theless. Once,  when  I  was  having  an  awfully 
hard  time, — I  had  a  boil  on  the  end  of  my 
nose,  and  I  looked  so  funny  that  nobody 
sympathized  a  bit,  except  Father  and  Mother, 
and  even  they  laughed  sometimes — but  really 
it  hurt  a  lot,  and  I  had  to  stay  cooped  in  the 
house,  and  missed  going  to  the  city  with  Fa- 
ther to  see  Peter  Pan,  Dr.  Huston  gave  me  a 
motto,  all  framed.  It  helped  me  just  lots  and 
lots,  then,  and  it  has  ever  since.  It  was  just 
four  lines,  written  by  a  man  in  Australia, 
named  Adam  Lindsay  Gordon  : 

"  '  Life  is  mostly  froth  and  bubble, 
Two  things  stand  like  stone  : 
Kindness  in  your  neighbor's  trouble, 
Courage  in  your  own.' 

Dr.  Huston  gives  lots  of  copies  of  those  lines 
to  his  patients.  He'll  probably  give  one  to 
you,  if  you  can  manage  to  scare  up  an  ache, — 
or  a  boil  on  the  end  of  your  nose,"  she  added 


«/'M  SORRT,  DICK'         215 

with  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  there's  Jimmie, — so  I 
guess  he's  all  right.  Bless  his  heart  I  Isn't 
he  a  darling?  Don't  you  love  children  when 
they  get  all  dirty  and  rumpled  ?  " 

Jimmie  paused  long  enough  in  the  con- 
genial task  of  digging  a  hole,  "  stwaight  frew 
ter  China,"  to  throw  them  several  muddy 
kisses,  and  Mrs.  Crowell  came  hurrying  out 
of  the  house  at  the  sound  of  the  carriage 
wheels.  "  I'm  so  sorry,  girls,  that  Esther  is 
out.  She  has  gone  to  town,"  she  explained. 
"  Yes,  Polly  dear,  Jimmie  is  all  right  again  ; 
just  as  well  as  he  ever  was.  And  this  is  the 
girl,"  and  Mrs.  Crowell  put  her  hand  gently 
on  Margery's,  "  who  was  so  plucky  about  get- 
ting the  doctor  for  him  ?  I  am  very  grateful 
to  you,  my  dear,  for  being  so  good  to  my 
little  boy." 

Margery  blushed,  and  murmured  some- 
thing inarticulate.  She  hoped  that  sweet, 
gentle  Mrs.  Crowell  did  not  know  how  Jim- 
mie happened  to  be  acting  as  extra  tail-board. 

"  Wasn't  it  funny,"  Polly  put  in,  "  the  way 
that  Dr.  Huston  thought  we  were  trying  to 
run  a  race  with  him  ?  I  didn't  think  that  it 
was  a  bit  funny  at  the  time,  but  I  have 


2i 6          MARGERY  MORRIS 

laughed  a  lot  over  it  since  then.  No,  thank 
you,  Mrs.  Crowell,  we  can't  stay.  We  only 
stopped  in  to  inquire  after  Jimmie.  We  are 
going  over,  now,  to  take  some  of  Mother's 
famous  elderberry  wine  to  old  Mr.  Morris, — 
you  know  he  has  been  very  ill." 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  too  bad  ?  I  was  so  sorry  to 
hear  it.  Tell  your  mother,  by  the  way,  dear, 
that  I  tried  to  make  some  elderberry  wine  this 
summer,  and  that  mine  wasn't  nearly  as  good 
as  hers.  Mrs.  Jameson's  elderberry  wine  is  a 
Renwyck's  Town  institution,"  Mrs.  Crowell 
explained  to  Margery. 

"  We  are  going  to  Gertrude  Brown's  too, — 
and  to  Mrs.  Sykes',"  Polly  added  with  a 
laugh. 

"  I  won't  detain  you  then,"  Mrs.  Crowell 
declared.  "  If  you  fall  into  Mrs.  Sykes' 
clutches  she  will  keep  you  until  dark  while 
she  gives  you  a  long  account  of  all  the  mis- 
doings of  her  neighbors.  If  you  want  to  get 
home  by  supper  time,  I  advise  you  to  hurry 
now.  Good-bye,  dear." 

Mrs.  Crowell  was  a  true  prophet.  When 
they  drew  up  at  the  little  cottage  of  Mrs. 
Sykes,  that  worthy  but  talkative  woman 


"I'M  SORRT,  DICK'          217 

threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  ran  out 
to  the  gate  to  talk  to  them.  She  had  so 
much  to  tell :  her  gratitude  for  the  clothes 
that  Mrs.  Jameson  had  sent ;  the  scandalous 
way  in  which  her  next  door  neighbor  had 
borrowed  a  pound  of  flour  from  her  and 
never  returned  it ;  what  the  Ladies'  Aid  So- 
ciety had  said  to  her  about  her  carpet  rags, 
and  her  own  wise  and  witty  reply  ;  the  dread- 
ful way  in  which  the  children  of  her  opposite 
neighbor  quarreled  among  themselves. 

At  last  Spy — thanks  to  surreptitious  tick- 
lings with  the  whip — became  so  restless  that 
they  were  forced  to  move  off,  Mrs.  Sykes' 
voice  floating  after  them  until  they  were  out 
of  ear-shot : 

"Don't  forget,  Miss  Polly,  to  tell  yer 
mother  how  much  obliged  I  am  fer  these 
things !  And,  fer  the  land's  sake,  do  you 
think  it's  safe  fer  a  young  girl  like  you  ter 
drive  a  dangerous  animal  like  that? — I 
never  trust  a  horse  that  won't  stand  !  Give 
me  a  quiet  horse,  I  says.  And  don't  forget, 
Miss  Polly,  ter  tell  yer  mother  what  I  said  to 

the  Ladies'  Aiders,  and "  The  rest  was 

lost  in  the  clatter  of  Spy's  hoofs. 


218          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  Whew  !  "  gasped  Polly.  "  Anything  left 
of  you,  Margie?  Did  you  ever  hear  any- 
body talk  so  much  !  I  suppose  she's  lonely, 
poor  soul — and  all  that  stored-up  talk  breaks 
loose  when  she  sees  any  one.  Mother  told 
me  this  morning  that  I  was  as  bad, — I  talk  so 
much  about  the  football  game  day  after  to- 
morrow !  Are't  you  excited,  Margery  ?  I  am 
thrilled.  It  must  be  fine  to  have  your  cousin 
on  the  team.  Dick  doesn't  seem  a  bit  excited, 
does  he? — he  never  does." 

"  No, — I  wish  he  did,  sometimes.  It  will  be 
fun  at  the  game,  won't  it?  Renwyck's  Town 
is  a  pretty  jolly  sort  of  a  place,  after  all." 

"  Of  course  it  is,  goosie !  Here  we  are  at 
Gertrude  Brown's.  She  is  a  poor  lame  girl 
that  Dr.  Huston  is  trying  to  help.  Hold  the 
reins,  while  I  skip  up  and  knock." 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  hold  such  a  wild 
beast?  'I  never  trust  a  horse  that  won't 
stand,' "  quoted  Margery  teasingly,  as  Polly 
jumped  out  of  the  carriage  and  sped  up  the 
pathway  to  the  drab  little  house  standing 
under  two  giant  maple  trees. 

"  There,"  said  Polly,  "  that's  done.  Now 
for  Mr.  Morris's." 


"I'M  SORRT,  DICK'          219 

"  This  is  a  lovely  place,  isn't  it  ?  "  Margery 
remarked,  as  they  turned  in  between  Mr.  Mor- 
ris's gate-posts. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  to  live  here  ? 
— think  of  the  house-parties  you  could  give ! 
And  the  fun  you  could  have !  It  always 
seems  a  shame  to  me  that  there  isn't  somebody 
young  here  to  enjoy  it." 

"  Hasn't  Mr.  Morris  any  family, — and 
doesn't  he  ever  give  any  parties  ?  "  Margery 
asked  regretfully.  She  thought  that  she 
would  like  to  attend  a  party  in  the  stately 
white  house  before  her. 

"  He  has  a  son  somewhere.  He's  married, 
I  think.  No,  Mr.  Morris  never  entertains, — 
except,  perhaps,  somebody  to  dinner.  He 
sticks  pretty  much  to  himself, — although 
everybody  likes  him.  But  he  reads  a  good 
deal,  I  imagine, — and  then  he's  away  most  of 
the  time,  anyway.  He  goes  to  New  York  a 
lot,  and  he  is  always  going  down  to  some 
springs  in  Virginia  for  his  health.  No  hope, 
Margery  Daw, — no  parties  here  !  Oh,  goody, 
there's  the  gardener  now.  Here,  Charles," 
she  called  softly  to  a  man  tying  up  a  rose-bush 
by  the  front  steps,  "  won't  you  come  here 


220         MARGERT  MORRIS 

and  get  this  ?  Take  it  into  the  house  right 
away,  please, — and  tell  the  nurse  that  Mrs. 
Jameson  sent  it  to  Mr.  Morris.  How  is  he  to- 
day? '  A  little  bit  better  '?  I'm  so  glad.  Oh, 
yes,  I  suppose  that  it  will  take  him  a  while  to 
get  well,  and  that  they  will  have  to  be  very 
careful  with  him.  Now  then,  Margery,"  she 
declared  as  she  turned  Spy  around,  "  I'll  get 
you  home  as  soon  as  I  can." 

At  the  gateway  of  the  farm,  Margery  offered 
to  get  out  and  walk  up  to  the  house  that  Polly 
might  reach  town  so  much  the  sooner.  "  All 
right,  if  you  don't  mind,"  Polly  agreed. 
"Thank  you  for  coming  with  me.  Good-bye." 

Left  alone,  Margery  strolled  slowly  up  the 
pine-tree  bordered  avenue.  Under  the  spell 
of  Polly's  congenial  society  she  had  largely 
forgotten  Dick  and  the  strained  feeling  that 
had  arisen  ;  in  the  twilight,  alone,  her  mind 
went  back  to  her  difficulties. 

"  After  all,"  she  thought,  idly  scuffling  with 
her  feet  the  pine-needles  that  had  fallen  on 
the  level  driveway,  "  it  was  mean  to  tease  Dick 
so  much.  He  didn't  tease  me  when  I  had 
such  a  horrid  time  at  school."  She  stopped 
and  picked  up  a  pine-cone.  "  It  was  nice  of 


«/'M  SORRT,  DICK'          221 

him.  I  suppose  Deborah  was  right,"  she  went 
on  thoughtfully  turning  the  pine-cone  over  in 
her  hand  ;  "  boys  don't  like  to  be  made  fun  of. 
Perhaps  I  have  hurt  his  feelings.  Oh,  dear, — 
I  suppose  that  I  ought  to  apologize.  Polly 
would  apologize  as  quick  as  a  wink." 

She  walked  slowly  on  again.  Suddenly  at 
the  end  of  the  driveway  she  threw  the  pine- 
cone  at  the  horse-block,  and  ran  lightly  up  the 
portico  steps.  "  I  will  apologize,"  she  said 
aloud,  as  she  opened  the  front  door. 

The  hallway  was  dark.  Margery  stopped, 
astonished,  for  she  knew  that  as  night  came 
on  Deborah's  first  care  was  always  to  light  the 
lamp  in  the  hall  where  it  gave  a  welcome  to 
all  who  might  come  to  the  door. 

"  Hello,  somebody  !  "  cried  Margery,  feeling 
her  way  to  the  library.  "  Anybody  home  ?  " 

Dick  opened  the  door.  "  Oh,  hello,  Mar- 
gery," he  said  quietly.  "  Come  in.  Don't 
make  any  more  noise  than  you  have  to — 
Deborah's  gone  up-stairs  to  bed." 

"To  bed?" 

"  Yes, — she's  feeling  pretty  seedy.  I  wanted 
to  send  for  the  doctor, — but  she  says  she  just 
wants  to  get  into  bed  and  be  let  alone." 


222          MARGERY  MORRIS 

11  Why,  Dick, — what  do  you  think  is  the 
matter  ?  Do  you  think  that  she  is  very  ill  ?  " 

"Oh,  no.  She  says  that  it  is  just  a  little 
attack  of  inflammatory  rheumatism,  and  that 
she  has  had  it  before." 

"  I'll  go  right  up  to  see  her." 

"  Better  not.  She  says  that  she  wants  to 
get  all  the  sleep  that  she  can.  She's  tired 
anyway, — she  had  those  women  cleaning  here 
yesterday, — and  then  she  caught  a  little  cold." 

"  Oh,  dear, — I  hope  it  wasn't  from  fussing 
over  my  old  toothache." 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  Dick  consoled  her. 
"  Inflammatory  rheumatism  comes  from  some- 
thing in  your  system.  The  cold  just  started 
her  off.  Let's  have  supper  now, — I'm  hungry. 
Deborah  put  out  a  cold  supper  for  us, — and 
Thomas  can  wash  up.  Ready,  Benjamin  ?" 

As  they  left  the  dining-room  after  supper, 
Margery  drew  Dick  back.  "  I'm  sorry,  Dick," 
she  said  softly,  "that  I  teased  you  so.  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  disagreeable." 

Dick  grinned  somewhat  shyly.  "  All  right, 
Marge,"  giving  her  hand  a  vigorous  shake. 
"  I  was  a  gump  to  get  so  peeved.  Want  any 
help  with  your  algebra?  " 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO 

A  CASUAL  observer,  wandering  down  a  cer- 
tain pleasant  side  street  in  old  Renwyck's 
Town  at  about  eleven  o'clock  on  any  school 
morning,  might  have  been  under  the  impres- 
sion that  a  theatrical  company  was  rehearsing 
for  the  mob  in  Julius  Caesar.  Such  shout- 
ings, such  wild  yells,  such  a  general  din  !  But 
instead  of  mimic  grief  and  anger,  the  noise 
came  from  real  joy.  The  Friends'  school  was 
at  recess.  A  few  fussy  old  ladies  might  bang 
down  their  windows  in  futile  protest,  or  a 
near-by  mother  say  despairingly  that  it  was 
positively  no  use  trying  to  put  Baby  to  sleep 
until  after  recess  was  over,  but  as  a  rule  such 
inhabitants  of  Renwyck's  Town  as  happened 
to  be  passing  paused  to  look  over  the  old 
wall,  thankful  that  there  were  so  many  strong 
young  bodies  to  run  and  play,  so  many  happy 
hearts  to  be  lifted  up  in  shouts  of  joy. 

223 


224         MARGERY  MORRIS 

By  an  unwritten  law  the  girls  and  boys, 
however  much  they  might  be  together  out  of 
school  hours,  ignored  each  other  during  re- 
cess. The  boys  gathered  at  one  side  of  the 
big  school  yard  to  practice  football,  or  in 
spring,  cricket  and  baseball,  while  the  girls 
either  stayed  indoors,  or  twined  arms  and 
walked,  long  strings  of  them,  sedately  up  and 
down  under  the  old  walnut  trees,  chattering 
as  fast  as  their  agile  young  tongues  could  go. 
Here  and  there  some  more  exclusive  spirit 
wound  her  arm  around  the  waist  of  a  chosen 
intimate,  and  they  sauntered  apart  from  the 
others  in  the  more  secluded  section  of  the 
yard.  Polly  usually  either  perched  on  a  desk 
indoors,  or,  if  out-of-doors,  on  the  top  bar  of 
the  side  fence,  from  which  high  point  of  van- 
tage she  held  forth  to  an  interested  group  of 
girls  on  whatever  subject  happened  to  be 
nearest  to  her  heart. 

Since  the  beginning  of  her  friendship  with 
Polly,  Margery  usually  perched  beside  her,  an 
accepted  member  of  the  group.  Thanks  to 
the  spirited  championship  of  her  cause  by 
Polly — who  was  decidedly  the  most  popular 
girl  in  the  school — and  also  to  their  better 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      225 

acquaintance  with  her,  Margery  had  come  to 
be  liked  by  the  other  girls. 

Being  at  a  co-educational  school,  the  girls 
had  absorbed  some  of  the  modes  of  thought 
of  their  boy  companions ;  chief  among  these 
was  their  respect  for  the  quality  of  "  square- 
ness " ;  and  Margery  was  undeniably  very 
"square." 

In  her  turn,  Margery  had  come  to  like  her 
schoolmates,  finding  in  these  cheerful,  whole- 
some young  people  a  society  that  was  really 
more  congenial  to  her  than  was  that  of  the 
girls  amongst  whom  she  had  been  thrown. 

The  morning  after  their  drive  together 
found  Polly  and  Margery  at  recess,  sitting  on 
the  side  fence,  while  Polly,  her  long  legs 
gracefully  hooked  through  the  rails  to  make 
her  perch  the  more  secure,  expounded  to  a 
hilarious  circle  of  girls  a  new  labor-saving 
method  of  writing  themes. 

"  Of  course,  I  love  writing,"  she  declared. 
"  I'd  rather  write  the  kind  of  things  I  like  to 
write  than  do  anything  else  on  earth.  But  I 
do  hate  scribbling  away  at  the  old  subjects 
Teacher  Rachel  and  Teacher  Abigail  give  us. 
'  Nice  instructive  subjects,'  "  a  world  of  scorn 


226          MARGERT  MORRIS 

in  her  voice.  " '  How  iron  is  mined/  and 
'  wheat  elevators/  and  things  like  that.  I 
could  give  lots  better  subjects  :  '  How  it  feels 
to  fall  out  of  a  flying  machine/  or  '  What  a 
polar  bear  thinks  of  the  people  that  come  to 
the  zoo/  Oh,  there's  no  use  in  making  life  as 
dull  as  Teacher  Abigail  does." 

"  But  how  are  you  going  to  make  writing 
themes  any  easier?"  asked  a  fat  damsel  who 
had  tried  to  perch  on  the  rail  beside  Polly 
and,  losing  her  balance,  had  hastily  decided 
that  she  preferred  to  stand. 

"  It's  this  way — you  know  Kubla  Khan 
was  the  result  of  a  dream." 

"What's  Kubla  Khan?"  asked  the  fat 
damsel  eagerly. 

"  It  isn't  a  new  kind  of  sundse,  anyway," 
answered  a  sharp-eyed,  thin  little  girl,  with  a 
meaning  glance  at  the  plump  arm  beside  her. 

"  It's  a  poem.  By  Coleridge,"  Polly  went 
on  hastily,  seeing  a  storm  about  to  brew. 
"  You  see,  Coleridge  went  to  sleep  one  day 
after  dinner  and  dreamed  it,  and  when  he 
woke  up  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  remember  it 
and  write  it  down, — and  there  was  a  beautiful 
poem,  all  nicely  done  for  him.  Now  my  plan 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      227 

is :  when  I  have  to  write  some  deadly  dull 
thing,  on  '  carpet-tacks,'  say,  full  of  informa- 
tion (I  loathe  information — I  wish  there 
wasn't  any  such  thing  in  the  world),  I'll  just 
say  '  carpet-tacks,  carpet-tacks  '  over  and  over 
to  myself  when  I'm  going  to  sleep,  and  then 
I'll  dream  about  carpet-tacks,  and  in  the 
morning  all  that  I'll  have  to  do  will  be  to 
write  it  down." 

11  The  encyclopaedia's  surer,"  suggested  a 
sceptic. 

Polly  was  not  to  be  discouraged.  "  Oh, 
with  practice  the  other  way  will  do  wonder- 
fully. Making  your  subconscious  mind  work, 
they  call  it,"  she  explained  learnedly.  "  I 
tried  it  last  night." 

"  How  did  it  work  ?  " 

"  Only  pretty  well,"  Polly  admitted  with  a 
grin.  "  I  hadn't  any  particular  subject  to 
work  on,  so  I  just  took  the  first  word  that 
came  into  my  mind.  That  was  toast.  I  said 
'  toast,  toast '  just  as  hard  as  I  could  before  I 
went  to  sleep.  I  did  dream  a  lot  about  toast, 
— but  when  I  woke  up  all  that  I  could  remem- 
ber was  that  somebody  said  in  my  dream, '  The 
buttered  toast  had  the  wings  of  a  cat.'  But 


228          MARGERT  MORRIS 

of  course,  it  takes  practice,  like  everything 
else.  Oh,  Dick  is  beckoning  to  you,  Mar- 
gery ! " 

Margery  slipped  out  of  the  laughing  group, 
and,  breaking  all  school-yard  conventions, 
hurried  over  to  Dick,  who  was  standing  apart 
from  the  other  boys,  violently  beckoning  to 
her. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  butt  into  that  group  of 
gigglers,"  Dick  explained.  "  That's  why  I 
beckoned  to  you.  Dr.  Huston  has  just  been 
here  to  see  me.  After  we  left  this  morning 
Deborah  telephoned  for  him.  He  says  that 
she  is  in  for  a  pretty  sharp  attack  of  rheuma- 
tism. He  was  hopping  mad,  too,  about  her 
getting  up  this  morning  to  see  about  break- 
fast ;  and  he  says  that  we  shall  have  to  get 
somebody  to  help  her  at  once.  I  have  per- 
mission to  get  off  just  as  soon  as  Latin  is  over 
next  period,  and  hunt  up  Agnes, — that's 
Thomas's  sister.  She's  usually  willing  to 
come  if  we  want  her.  She  can  do  the  cook- 
ing, and  with  Denis  O'Flanigan's  daughter  to 
help  her  take  care  of  Deborah,  we  can  get 
along, — for  a  while,  at  any  rate.  All  the 
nurses  in  town  are  busy,  and  it's  a  nuisance 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      229 

and  an  expense  to  import  one  from  the  city, 
— unless  we  positively  need  one." 

"Oh,  Dick,"  cried  Margery,  dismayed,  at 
the  end  of  Dick's  long  speech.  "  Poor  Deb- 
orah !  How  shall  we  get  along  ?  Oh,  I  do 
wish  Grandpapa  were  home  !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  was  Dick's  heartfelt  answer. 
"  For  more  reasons  than  one." 

"  It's  awful  not  having  anybody  to  take 
charge  of  things,"  Margery  went  on.  "  Of 
course,  at  home,  Papa  and  Mamma  are  al- 
ways there  to  look  after  everything.  Well, 
anyway,"  she  concluded,  her  mind  flying  back 
to  Deborah,  "  I  hope  poor  Deborah  won't  be 
ill  long.  I " 

The  school  bell  rang  for  the  end  of  recess. 
Margery  started  pell-mell  for  the  school  door, 
and  Dick  followed,  picking  up  the  side-combs 
she  shed  on  the  way. 

"  Here, — glue  'em  on  next  time,"  he  whis- 
pered as  he  handed  them  to  her.  "  I'll  go  to 

see  Agnes "  A  teacher  turned  a  warning 

eye  upon  him,  and  Dick's  voice  trailed  away 
discreetly. 

When  the  children  reached  home  after 
school  they  found  Thomas's  sister  already 


230          MARGERT  MORRIS 

installed  in  the  kitchen.  Agnes  was  a  tall, 
thin,  middle-aged  colored  woman  with  a 
tongue  that  wagged  almost  as  constantly  as 
that  of  the  inexhaustible  Mrs.  Sykes.  She 
took  pains  to  inform  Margery  at  once  that, 
"  Ah  don't  play  bridge,  an'  ah  don't  go  to  no 
saloons,  an'  ah  don't  patronize  the  movin' 
pictures, — ah  takes  mah  pleasure  in  talk." 
By  evening,  as  she  heard  Agnes's  voice  in- 
cessantly lifted  up  in  chatter  to  Thomas  and 
the  farmer's  daughter,  or,  lacking  a  more  re- 
sponsive audience,  to  the  cat  or  the  kitchen 
stove,  Margery  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if 
Agnes's  pleasure  consisted  of  "  talk,"  her  life 
must  be  one  round  of  enjoyment. 

Margery  was  rather  startled,  when  she  tip- 
toed into  Deborah's  room  after  luncheon,  to 
find  her  so  pale  and  tired,  and  her  face  so 
drawn  with  evident  suffering.  "  Oh,  Deb- 
orah," she  whispered,  "  I'm  so  sorry  that 
you're  ill.  Can't  I  do  anything  for  you? " 

Deborah  turned  her  head  on  the  pillow. 
She  was  evidently  glad  to  see  Margery.  "  No, 
thank  you,  dear,"  she  said.  "Just  don't 
worry, — that's  all.  Try  not  to  take  cold,  and 
wear  your  rubbers  if  it  rains.  I'll  be  better 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      231 

to-morrow,  surely.  Did  Agnes  get  your  din- 
ner all  right,  and  make  you  comfortable? 
I'm  so  glad  that  Dick  was  able  to  get  her. 
Now  be  sure  to  tell  me  if  she  doesn't  do 
things  right.  It's  hard  to  see  the  bright  side 
of  being  tied  here  by  the  leg,  when  there  is 
so  much  that  I  ought  to  be  doing  for  you 
children.  But  I  suppose  that  it  was  sent  to 
keep  me  from  falling  down-stairs  and  break- 
ing my  arm, — or  having  some  other  such  ac- 
cident. Which  would  be  worse,  and  would 
keep  me  laid  up  longer.  Now,  be  sure  and 
not  worry,  dear.  And  have  just  as  much  fun 
with  Polly  Jameson  and  the  other  girls  as 
though  I  were  around.  I  think  I  hear  a 
carriage  coming  up  the  driveway.  Perhaps 
you  had  better  go  and  see  who  it  is." 

Margery  hurried  down-stairs,  and  found 
that  Polly  and  Esther  had  stopped  in  to 
bring  her  "Pride  and  Prejudice,"  which  Polly 
had  recommended  as  "  simply  thrilling,"  and 
to  spend  the  afternoon  if  they  were  urged. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Margery  that  evening,  as 
she  finished  studying  her  Latin,  and  closed 
the  book  with  a  bang,  "  that  Deborah  were 
well." 


232          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  I  wish  so  too,"  said  Benjamin,  disconso- 
lately, leaning  his  head  against  Margery's 
shoulder.  "  I  don't  like  it  without  Deborah." 

Dick  lifted  his  head  from  the  map  he  was 
drawing.  "  It  does  seem  queer  without  her," 
he  agreed.  "  Nothing  seems  like  home,  some- 
how." 

"  Never  mind,  Benjie  dear,"  urged  Margery, 
rather  aghast  at  his  evidently  mournful  state 
of  mind,  "just  as  soon  as  I  have  read  over 
this  page  of  history  once  more,  I'll " — she 
hesitated,  for  she  had  been  looking  forward  to 
reading  "  Pride  and  Prejudice  " — "  I'll  play 
checkers  with  you.  Cheer  up,  Benjamin ; 
Deborah  will  be  better  to-morrow ;  she  says 
so  herself." 

Alas,  Deborah  was  no  better  the  next  day, 
or  the  next  to  that. 

"She  really  isn't  so  ill,"  Dr.  Huston  told 
Margery  on  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day, 
"but  she's  mighty  uneasy.  And  she's  worried 
about  you  children, — afraid  that  you  aren't 
being  made  comfortable.  That  room  of  hers 
looks  pretty  cheerless  to  me,  shades  on  the 
skew,  and  things  out  of  kelter.  I  don't  think 
much  of  that  Agnes, — in  a  sick  room,  at  any 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      233 

rate.  She's  too  slam-bang,  and  too  talkative. 
As  for  that  farmer's  daughter, — she's  a  stupid 
lump !  See  here,  you  look  like  a  healthy 
youngster,"  and  the  doctor  glanced  with  pro- 
fessional approval  at  Margery's  clear,  bright 
eyes,  and  smooth,  healthy  skin.  "  Can't  you 
take  up  your  end  of  the  burden  a  little  ?  I 
think  you  children  have  rather  neglected  Deb- 
orah. Go  and  cheer  her  up  this  afternoon ;  read 
to  her,  or  talk  to  her, — she  needs  that  more 
than  she  needs  medicine.  Straighten  that 
room  up  a  little.  Dick  tries  to  do  what  he 
can, — but  he's  more  at  home  on  the  football 
field.  There's  a  little  verse  I'd  like  all  you 
young  people  to  learn  by  heart : 

"  '  Life  is  mostly  froth  and  bubble, 
Two  things  stand  like  stone  : 
Kindness  in  your  neighbor's  trouble, 
Courage  in  your  own.' 

Now,  just  be  as  much  of  a  success  at 
cheering  Deborah  as  you  were  at  catching  me 
the  other  day,  and  I'll  bring  you  that  verse 
framed.  Good-bye."  The  old  doctor  hurried 
into  his  overcoat  and  bustled  off,  to  carry,  in 
his  own  queer,  brusque  way,  courage  and  con- 
solation to  the  next  sufferer. 


234          MARGERT  MORRIS 

Margery  went  up  the  stairs  thoughtfully ; 
she  had  made  a  delightful  engagement  with 
Polly  and  two  of  their  classmates  for  the 
afternoon. 

As  she  opened  Deborah's  door  and  glanced 
about  her,  Margery  decided  that  the  doctor 
was  right.  The  room  was  cold  and  dreary. 
It  was  quite  evident  that  incapable,  indiffer- 
ent hands  had  made  the  untidy  bed,  and  left 
newspapers  and  medicine  bottles  on  the  table. 
A  tray  with  Deborah's  dinner  dishes  on  it 
stood  on  the  window  sill  beneath  a  curtain 
pulled  carelessly  askew.  Altogether  a  very 
different  room  from  what  it  was  when  Deb- 
orah was  able  to  give  it  her  usual  dainty 
care. 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  dreadful  ?  "  sighed  Deborah 
as  Marger}'  glanced  about  her  critically.  "  Ag- 
nes is  a  pretty  good  cook,  but  she  is  awfully 
untidy.  I  try  to  make  her  keep  things 
picked  up,  but  this  morning  I  felt  too  weak 
and  tired  to  cope  with  her.  But  never  mind 
that  now, — come  sit  beside  me,  child,  and 
tell  me  how  things  are  going  at  school.  Is 
Agnes  getting  the  meals  all  right  ?  And, 
Margery,  when  Benjamin  comes  in,  won't 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      235 

you  see  that  he  changes  his  feet,  if  he  has 
been  playing  down  by  the  creek.  He  ran  in 
here  for  a  minute  after  lunch,  and  he  seemed 
croupy  to  me." 

"All  right,  Deborah,"  Margery  agreed. 
"  I'll  look  after  the  young  gentleman.  But 
first  I'm  going  to  straighten  things  up  here  a 
little." 

"Oh,  will  you,  dear?"  sighed  Deborah 
gratefully.  "  It's  very  sweet  of  you." 

"  Now  close  your  eyes,"  Margery  com- 
manded, "  and  don't  look  until  I  tell  you." 
As  quietly  as  she  could,  Margery  tiptoed 
about  the  room,  straightening  the  shades, 
shaking  out  the  window-curtains  with  their 
quaint  ball  fringe,  rearranging  Deborah's  old- 
fashioned  little  belongings  on  the  high  ma- 
hogany bureau,  putting  the  tray  and  news- 
papers outside  the  door  in  the  hall  for  Agnes 
to  take  down-stairs. 

"  There,"  she  said,  as  she  smoothed  the 
quilt  over  Deborah.  "  You  may  look  now." 

Deborah  obediently  opened  her  eyes.  "  You 
dear  child  !  How  different  things  look  1 " 

"  Who  did  your  hair  this  morning  ?  "  de- 
manded Margery. 


236          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Bertha  O'Flanigan, — I  suppose  that  it 
looks  like  it,"  and  Deborah  made  a  little 
grimace  of  disgust.  "  My  arms  are  too  stiff 
to  raise  them  to  my  head." 

"  I'm  going  to  do  your  hair  for  you." 

Margery's  hands  were  deft ;  with  a  few  gen- 
tle brushings  and  pattings  Deborah's  hair  was 
arranged  more  comfortably.  "  Now  then, 
wait  and  see  what  is  coming,"  and  Margery 
skipped  out  of  the  room. 

In  her  own  room  she  found  a  bottle  of 
toilet  water.  As  she  took  it  from  the  dress- 
ing table  a  thought  struck  her ;  Deborah's 
old  gray  dressing  jacket  looked  dreary ;  here 
in  the  cupboard  were  two  dainty  little  flannel 
negligees  hanging  side  by  side,  one  pink  and 
one  blue. 

Like  other  generous  people  Margery  found 
real  pleasure  in  giving.  "  Oh,  what  fun  !  " 
she  thought,  as  she  took  down  the  pink 
jacket.  "  Deborah  will  be  crazy  about  this 
one."  With  the  bottle  of  lilac  water  in  one 
hand,  and  the  negligee  in  the  other,  she  ran 
back  to  Deborah. 

"  There,"  she  laughed,  as  she  slipped  the 
little  garment  around  Deborah's  shoulders, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      237 

"  you  look  as  sweet  as  a  pink.  I'll  put  some 
of  this  stuff  011  your  forehead  before  I  go 
down-stairs.  Anything  more  that  I  can  do 
for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  but  just  take  a  look  at  my  flow- 
ers,— I'm  sure  that  they  haven't  been  watered 
since  I  came  up-stairs." 

"  All  right, — when  I  come  in.  I'm  going 
to  meet  Polly  at  half-past  three,  under  the  big 
tree  by  the  turnpike.  It  will  take  me  half  an 
hour  to  get  there,  so  I'll  have  to  skip." 

"  Where  are  you  going  with  Polly  ?  "  Deb- 
orah asked  a  trifle  wistfully. 

"  Over  to  see  Helen  Montgomery, — one  of 
the  girls  in  our  class.  She  lives  on  the  other 
side  of  town.  She's  the  girl  I  told  you  about 
who  has  such  pretty  red  cheeks.  Elizabeth 
Harper  is  to  be  there,  too." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Isn't  it  nice  you're  going  to  see 
her  ?  What  happy  times  you  young  girls  do 
have.  Good-bye,  dear." 

"Good-bye." 

Putting  on  her  coat  as  she  went,  Margery 
ran  out  of  the  house.  At  the  back  of  her 
mind  she  was  not  feeling  comfortable.  Al- 
though she  reassured  herself  that  she  had  done 


238          MARGERY  MORRIS 

all  that  the  doctor  expected,  Deborah's  weary 
face  persisted  in  rising  up  before  her. 

"  Bother  !  "  she  ejaculated  as  she  reached  the 
gate.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  and  see  about 
those  flowers,  and  about  Benjamin.  Perhaps 
it  is  mean  to  leave  Deborah  alone  all  after- 
noon. Oh,  pshaw ! " 

She  loitered,  irresolute. 

"  Oh,  bother !  Bother  !  "  she  cried  to  her 
inconvenient  conscience ;  and  turning  on  her 
heel  she  ran  up  the  avenue.  Panting  she  hur- 
ried to  the  telephone,  and  between  gasps  for 
breath,  managed  to  explain  to  Polly — who 
fortunately  had  not  started  yet — that  she 
would  not  be  able  to  meet  her  that  afternoon. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  agreed  Polly  cordially. 
"  You  couldn't  leave  Deborah  !  Yes,  of  course, 
I  understand.  I'll  explain  to  Helen." 

Margery  hung  up  the  receiver,  feeling  rather 
better  satisfied. 

As  she  went  through  the  front  hall  again, 
she  wrinkled  up  her  nose  critically.  "  Yes, 
this  is  a  messy  looking  place,"  she  thought. 
"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  seen  that  Agnes 
cleared  things  up." 

The  hall  was  certainly  not  in  its  usual  spot- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      239 

less  order.  A  gingham  apron  hung  carelessly 
across  the  newel-post ;  the  boys'  gum  boots 
and  tennis  rackets  lay  piled  on  the  old  sofa 
instead  of  being  put  away  in  the  cupboard 
under  the  stairs  as  they  belonged  ;  the  flowers 
in  the  vase  on  the  little  mahogany  table  were 
faded,  and  everything  was  dusty. 

"  If  I  have  to  stay  in  all  the  afternoon," 
Margery  concluded,  picking  up  the  vase,  "  I 
may  as  well  clear  this  mess  up.  I'll  do  it." 

The  faded  flowers  she  disposed  of  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  pitching  them  out  into  the 
driveway,  the  gum  boots  and  tennis  rackets 
she  hurled  into  the  cupboard  under  the  stairs, 
and  the  gingham  apron,  after  she  had  used  it 
as  a  dust-rag,  followed  them.  "  Whoever  owns 
that  apron  may  hunt  for  it,"  she  laughed  to 
herself.  "  There,  that  looks  better." 

The  hall  being  finished,  Margery  started  for 
the  library.  The  flowers  there  and  in  the 
dining-room  fulfilled  Deborah's  gloomiest  pre- 
dictions ;  they  plainly  had  not  been  watered, 
neither  had  there  been  any  dusting  of  the 
heavy,  dark  mahogany  furniture.  Marching 
into  the  kitchen,  Margery  demanded  a  pitcher 
of  water  from  Agnes. 


240          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  Yas'm,  ah  suttainly  was  a-goin'  to  watali 
dem  flowahs,  but  too  much  watah  makes  'em 
brittle-like,  dat  it  does." 

"  I  suppose  too  much  dusting  makes  the 
furniture  brittle,  too,"  Margery  replied  with 
a  significant  gesture  toward  the  dining-room 
door. 

"  Har  !  Har  I  "  laughed  Agnes,  good-na- 
turedly. 

Evidently  sarcasm  was  wasted  here.  "  Get 
me  a  duster,  please,"  Margery  commanded. 

A  tornadic  dusting  followed,  and  then,  being 
unused  to  work,  Margery  had  to  sit  down  to 
rest.  "  I  declare,"  she  thought,  "  somebody 
certainly  is  needed  here  to  keep  things  straight. 
Benjamin,  dear,"  she  called,  as  footsteps  were 
heard  in  the  hall,  "  come  in  here — in  the 
library." 

"  Coming.  Look,  Margie,  I  can  wiggle  my 
ears.  You  can't  do  that,  can  you  ?  I  can 
show  you  how, — look,  Margie,  you  do  it  like 
this,"  and  he  leaned  across  her  lap,  his  muddy 
little  boot  rubbing  against  her  skirt. 

"  Oh,  Benjamin,"  she  cried,  remembering, 
"  you  must  change  your  shoes  and  stockings 
at  once  I " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  MOTTO      241 

"  All  right,  Margery, — but  come  out  on  the 
portico  and  watch  me  walk  on  my  hands.  I 
can  do  it  finely  on  the  driveway,  and  it 
doesn't  hurt  if  I  bump  my  head  there.  Come, 
Margie." 

"  Very  well,"  Margery  agreed,  allowing  her- 
self to  be  dragged  to  the  front  door.  "  But 
you  will  come  right  in  ?  " 

"  Look,  Margie  !  Just  watch  me  !  "  With 
true  little  boy  eagerness,  Benjamin  reversed 
himself,  and  feet  wildly  beating  the  air, 
essayed  three  or  four  steps  on  his  hands. 
"  There,  Margery,"  he  panted,  as  with  crimson 
face  he  staggered  upright  once  more.  "  You 
couldn't  do  that,  could  you?" 

"  No  indeed.     Come  now." 

"  Yes,  Margery."  But  the  loud  "  Whoo-ee  " 
from  the  gateway  of  Reggie  Smedly,  his 
particular  friend,  was  too  beguiling,  and  Ben- 
jamin darted  off. 

Margery  started  after  him.  Benjamin,  see- 
ing a  splendid  opportunity  for  a  romp,  dived 
into  the  shrubbery  bed.  By  the  time  that 
Margery  had  squeezed  in  after  him,  he  had 
emerged  and  was  gleefully  making  for  the 
back  of  the  house. 


242          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  You  can't  get  me,  Margery  1  You  can't 
get  me  I "  he  crowed,  dancing  up  and  down. 

"  Can't  1 1  "  cried  Margery,  as  making  a 
sudden  sprint  and  reaching  out  a  long  arm 
she  caught  him  firmly  by  the  collar.  "  Now 
then,  young  man, — into  the  house  you  go  !  " 

Tired  and  flushed,  but  laughing  in  spite  of 
her  vexation,  Margery  marched  him  into  the 
house  and  up  the  stairs,  Benjamin  protesting 
every  step  of  the  way,  but  obeying . 

"  Now  then,  Benjie,  you  may  go  out  and 
play  with  Reggie, — but  don't  dare  to  go  near 
that  creek  again  !  And  I'm  going  to  see — 
every  time  that  you  get  your  feet  wet — that 
you  '  change  your  feet/  as  Deborah  says.  So 
remember  ! " 

"  All  right,  Margie."  Throwing  his  arms 
around  her  neck  the  affectionate  child  gave 
Margery  a  strangling  hug.  "  You're  awful 
nice  to  take  care  of  me !  And  you're  awful 
pretty,  Margery,  too — you've  got  an  awful 
nice,  long  nose,"  he  added  with  sincere  ad- 
miration. 

"  Awful-fo/  nice,  not  awful  nice,"  Margery 
corrected  mechanically,  somewhat  dashed  by 
his  compliment. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

EESPONSIBILITIES 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  Benjamin,"  Mar- 
gery remarked,  sticking  her  head  in  at  Deb- 
orah's door.  "  He  thought  that  he  could  get 
away  from  me  and  not  change  his  shoes, — but 
I  caught  him  !  " 

"  Why,  haven't  you  gone  yet,  child  ?  Don't 
you  think  that  you  had  better  go  early,  and 
come  home  early? — unless  you  stop  at  the 
athletic  field  and  wait  for  Dick  to  bring  you 
home.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  you  two  girls 
driving  alone  after  dusk." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going,"  Margery  returned 
easily.  "  I  telephoned  to  Polly, — it  might 
rain,  or  something.  If  you  wait  a  few  min- 
utes, I'll  bring  you  another  surprise." 

Before  Deborah  could  ask  any  inconvenient 
questions  about  her  change  of  plans,  Margery 
slipped  down-stairs  again.  The  library  clock, 
striking  four,  gave  her  a  suggestion  for  the 

243 


244          MARGERY  MORRIS 

surprise.  "  Four  o'clock  tea,"  she  thought. 
"  Of  course  1 "  Going  into  the  kitchen,  in  a 
not-to-be-disobeyed  tone  she  ordered  Agnes  to 
make  some  tea  and  toast.  Then  from  the 
pantry  she  got  out  a  little  tea-tray,  and  some 
of  the  prettiest  china  from  the  corner  cup- 
board in  the  dining-room  ;  it  happened  to  be 
Mr.  Morris's  most  cherished  Wedgwood,  but 
both  he  and  Margery  were  blissfully  uncon- 
scious. Deborah  was  not,  and  when  she  saw 
that  precious  Wedgwood  entering  the  room 
on  a  tray  held  at  a  perilous  angle,  she  gasped 
with  horror. 

"  There,  child,  you  must  be  tired  out, — do 
sit  down,"  Deborah  implored,  after  Margery 
had  induced  old  Thomas  to  make  a  fire  in 
the  fireplace,  and  the  tea-tray  had  been  taken 
down-stairs  again.  "  Yes,  dear,  this  is  better, 
—you've  been  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  to-day. 
I  feel  like  a  princess  with  this  pink  prettiness 
to  wear — -just  think,  I  have  something  pink 
at  last — and  the  fire,  and  the  tea,  and  every- 
thing so  neat  and  shipshape.  You'll  read 
to  me?  That  will  be  fine, — if  you  aren't  too 
tired." 

The  art  of  reading  aloud  seems  to  be  a  lost 


RESPONSIBILITIES          245 

one,  and  Margery  read  no  better  than  the 
average.  In  the  monotonous  voice  which  she 
considered  suitable  to  Deborah's  choice,  the 
Bible,  she  droned  away  until  Deborah's  weary 
eyelids  closed,  and  she  dropped  off  for  the 
first  sound,  drugless  sleep  she  had  had  in 
forty-eight  hours. 

Deborah  asleep,  Margery  curled  up  luxuri- 
ously on  the  library  window  sill  to  read  "  Pride 
and  Prejudice."  Although  she  did  not  con- 
sider that  it  came  up  to  Polly's  description 
of  it  as  "  simply  thrilling,"  she  liked  it,  and 
found  the  characters  interesting.  By  and  by, 
however,  her  own  thoughts  grew  all  absorb- 
ing, and  the  book  slipped  off  her  lap  to  the 
floor,  while  she  sat  with  her  knees  drawn  up 
to  her  chin,  and  her  hands  clasping  her 
ankles,  staring  out  of  the  window.  At  five 
Benjamin  came  in,  and  she  got  up  to  light 
the  lamp  for  him. 

"  Deborah  plays  checkers  with  me — some- 
times— when  I  come  in  from  playing  out- 
doors," Benjamin  remarked  pensively. 

"  All  right,  Benjie  boy,  I  can  take  a  hint, — 
when  it's  big  enough,"  Margery  laughed,  as 
usual  rinding  him  amusing.  "  I'll  play  with 


246          M4RGERT  MORRIS 

you  until  half-past  five, — then  we'll  have  to 
begin  to  get  Deborah's  supper  tray  ready." 

As  she  was  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  the  tray,  Dick  came  in. 

"  Wherefore  this  thusness  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  don't  like  the  way  Agnes  does  things," 
Margery  explained.  "  She  is  so  careless.  So 
I  am  fixing  things  myself.  Dick,"  she  added 
briskly,  "  I'm  not  going  to  the  game  to- 
morrow." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh, — because." 

"  Why,— what's  the  matter?  Had  a  fall- 
ing out  with  Polly  and  the  girls?  Well, 
never  mind  that ;  I  can  arrange  for  you  to  go 
with  Sam's  sisters.  They're  old — one  of  them 
is  nearly  twenty-two — but  they're  nice." 

"  Of  course  I  haven't  had  a  falling  out 
with  Polly  !  "  cried  Margery  indignantly.  "  I 
wouldn't  dream  of  such  a  thing  !  Besides,  I 
think  Polly  would  be  a  hard  person  to  fall 
out  with !  It's  just  this  way :  Dr.  Huston 
said  to-day  that  Deborah  needed  cheering  up, 
— and  that  we  had  been  neglecting  her.  I 
hadn't  thought  of  it  until  he  spoke,  but  I  can 
see  that  he  is  right.  She  did  look  forlorn  and 


RESPONSIBILITIES  247 

lonely  when  I  went  up  to  see  her  this  after- 
noon. If  I  go  to  the  game  to-morrow  that 
will  leave  her  alone  all  day,  with  just  Bertha 
and  Agnes, — and  you  know  what  they  are !  " 

"  Yes.  But  I  thought  that  you  were  crazy 
to  go  to  the  game  ?  " 

"  I  was,  but — oh,  well  I — I'm  not  going." 

Dick  considered  the  matter  in  his  usual 
thoughtful  fashion.  "  I  see  how  you  feel," 
he  said  at  last.  "  I  suppose  that  we  have 
neglected  Deborah.  It  seems  pretty  mean, 
when  you  think  of  all  the  nice  little  things 
that  she  does  for  us, — lots  and  lots  more  than 
she  need  to,  or  than  she  is  paid  for.  All  the 
same,  Miss  Margie,"  rolling  his  eyes  in  com- 
ical imitation  of  Thomas,  "  it's  my  best  scanc- 
tification  dat  ye're  a  brick." 

Margery  felt  pleased,  and  suddenly  shy.  It 
was  new  to  her  to  be  praised  for  unselfishness. 
To  cover  her  embarrassment  she  called  Dick 
a  "  provoking  boy,"  and  in  the  same  breath 
ordered  him  to  carry  the  tray  up-stairs,  and 
asked  him  to  admire  its  appearance. 

Deborah  had  tactfully  suggested  a  little 
earlier  in  the  afternoon  that  the  best  Wedg- 
wood had  better  not  be  used  again,  but  Mar- 


248          MARGERT  MORRIS 

gery  had  made  the  tray  pretty  with  the  old 
blue  willow-ware  in  daily  use  at  the  farm. 

"  Now  look  out,  Dick,  that  you  don't  spill 
that  bowl  of  broth — that's  all  the  supper  poor 
Deborah  gets  to-night,  and  I  want  it  to  look 
dainty.  Wait  a  minute — you'll  be  sure  to 
spill  something  over  you — I'll  tie  this  apron 
on  you."  She  unfastened  the  neat  little  white 
apron  of  Deborah's  that  she  had  borrowed, 
from  around  her  own  waist,  and  tied  it  around 
Dick's.  "  There,  you  make  a  very  pretty 
French  maid.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  a  cap  for 
you.  Wait, — I'll  get  one  !  "  She  ran  hastily 
up  to  her  own  room,  and  by  the  time  that 
Dick  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she 
was  standing  there  with  a  white  lace  cap  in 
her  hands.  "  Here,  put  this  on !  It's  a  bou- 
doir cap  that  Marie  Smythe  gave  to  me. 
There,  you  look  perfectly  sweet ! " 

Dick  assumed  a  most  die-away  smirk,  and 
hunching  up  his  shoulders  in  what  he  fondly 
imagined  to  be  a  ladylike  manner,  he  minced 
into  Deborah's  room,  followed  by  Margery 
and  Benjamin. 

"  Madame,  vbuley  de  soupey,  and  de  breadey, 
and  de  butterey  ?  "  he  lisped. 


RESPONSIBILITIES          249 

"Well,"  laughed  Deborah,  "I  don't  fancy 
any  '  soupey '  very  much ;  but  the  nonsense 
of  you  children  is  a  wonderful  sauce." 

Giving  up  the  football  game  seemed  easy 
enough  in  prospect ;  but  when  the  end  of 
school  came  the  next  day,  and  Margery  had 
to  trudge  home  by  herself  to  the  lonely, 
quiet  old  house,  it  was  everything  that  was 
hard.  Many  of  the  girls  and  boys  had  stayed 
at  the  school  for  luncheon,  and  the  very  air 
seemed  filled  with  gayety  and  color.  The 
girls  had  worn  their  brightest  sweaters  and 
scarfs,  and  everybody  carried  flags,  or  wore 
splashing  bows  of  the  school  colors.  And 
Margery  was  out  of  it !  Hardest  of  all,  her 
action  in  giving  up  the  game  was  misunder- 
stood and  put  down  to  indifference  or  supe- 
riority. 

Only  Polly  seemed  to  understand ;  and 
Dick,  of  course.  As  a  member  of  the  foot- 
ball team  Dick  was  one  of  the  big  men  of 
the  day,  but  he  found  time  to  give  Margery 
an  encouraging  word  and  a  comforting  pat 
on  the  shoulder  as  they  filed  out  of  the  last 
recitation  of  the  morning. 

The   encouragement  that  Dick  and  Polly 


250         MARGERT  MORRIS 

gave  her,  and  the  fact  that  she  was  never  one 
to  give  up  easily  what  she  had  started  out  to 
do,  was  all  that  kept  Margery  from  turning 
around,  when  she  was  half-way  home,  and 
hurrying  ignominiously  back  to  the  school. 

If  Deborah  suspected  that  there  was  some- 
thing amiss  about  the  game  she  made  no  com- 
ment, but  was  so  glad  to  see  Margery,  and 
appeared  so  eager  to  hear  about  what  every- 
body was  wearing  to  the  game,  and  saying 
about  it,  that  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
Margery's  dissatisfaction  had  worn  off. 

"  Deborah,"  said  Margery,  as  the  time  drew 
near  for  the  boys  to  come  home,  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about  something  important.  I 
think  that  while  you're  ill  I  ought  to  be 
housekeeper  and  try  to  take  your  place. 
Agnes  is  all  right,  I  fancy,  if  she  is  bossed  a 
lot, — but  things  do  need  a  lot  of  looking 
after." 

Deborah  lay  still,  thinking.  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  her  that  Margery's  staying  home 
from  the  game  might  be  based  on  something 
else  than  a  mere  disagreement  with  Dick  or 
some  of  the  girls.  She  rather  doubted  Mar- 
gery's ability  to  cope  with  Agnes,  but  she  de- 


RESPONSIBILITIES          25 1 

cided  not  to  stand  in  her  way  if  she  wished 
to  try  it.  Deborah's  wise  old  eyes  had  seen 
that  Margery's  strong,  rather  self-willed  nature 
needed  responsibility. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  she  said  cordially.  "  I 
am  sure  that  you  will  do  it  beautifully.  It 
is  hard  for  me  to  give  orders  and  keep  the 
running  of  the  house  in  my  mind  while  I  am 
lying  here.  You  can  talk  over  the  meals 
with  Agnes,  and  see  that  she  gives  you  things 
that  you  like.  And  you  might  make  things 
look  nicer  and  more  homelike  for  the  boys, — 
I'm  sure  Agnes  doesn't  make  the  table  pretty. 
There's  a  pile  of  housekeeping  magazines  in 
the  library  that  Mrs.  Smedly  lent  me  ;  suppose 
you  go  down  and  look  them  over, — perhaps 
you'll  find  some  suggestions  there  for  pretty 
table  decorations.  And  while  you  are  doing 
that,  I  think  that  I'll  take  a  little  nap." 

When  Dick  and  Benjamin  came  in — wildly 
elated  at  the  success  of  the  school  eleven — 
they  found  Margery  so  deep  in  reading 
"  hints "  on  making  a  family  comfortable 
and  happy  that  she  had  forgotten  that  such 
things  as  football  games  existed. 

Margery  kept  bravely  to  her  resolution  to 


252          MARGERY  MORRIS 

act  as  deputy  housekeeper.  Thanks  to  Deb- 
orah's gentle  guidance,  and  to  her  own  na- 
tive, though  untried  ability,  she  managed 
very  well,  and  the  house  was  certainly  a  more 
cheerful  and  homelike  place  than  when  it 
was  left  entirely  to  Agnes. 

During  the  days  of  her  responsibility  the 
pile  of  housekeeping  magazines  became  famil- 
iar to  the  family  at  the  farm,  and  Deborah 
had  hard  work  at  times  to  keep  from  laugh- 
ing as  she  watched  Margery  searching  with 
comical  zeal  for  suggestions  from  her  oracles. 
"  Let  beauty  be  the  key-note  of  your  house- 
hold," the  Woman's  Journal  would  urge. 
"  Let  nothing  be  too  much  trouble  to  gather 
beauty,"  and  Margery  hurried  to  decorate  the 
table  with  an  autumnal  centerpiece  of  half  a 
pumpkin,  three  carrots  and  a  potato,  as  sug- 
gested by  that  fount  of  wisdom.  "  Do  not 
attempt  fancy  effects  in  decoration,"  advised 
the  Ladies'  Intelligencer,  "  or  have  elaborate 
menus,"  and  Margery  at  once  limited  her  cen- 
terpiece to  the  chaste  simplicity  of  a  spray 
of  ivy  in  a  crystal  vase,  and  ordered  nothing 
but  soup  for  dinner. 

Dick  and  his  accomplice  in  mischief,  Sam, 


RESPONSIBILITIES  253 

thoroughly  enjoyed  these  efforts,  and  show- 
ered suggestions  upon  her  which  they  declared 
they  had  copied  from  the  housekeeping  col- 
umn in  the  newspaper.  "  Never  throw  away 
an  old  sink-drain,"  was  one  gem  ;  "  it  will  do 
as  the  foundation  for  a  chiffon  hat."  "  Save 
your  old  oyster  shells,"  said  another  ;  "  these, 
candied,  make  a  delicious  dainty  to  offer  at 
afternoon  tea." 

The  picturesque  in  cookery  appealed  to 
Margery  and  she  urged  Agnes  to  try  each  new 
recipe  of  a  florid  nature  that  she  discovered. 

Agnes  rebelled.  "  Ah  don't  use  no  receipts," 
she  declared.  "  Ah  cooks  by  de  grace  o'  God, 
ah  does." 

Finally  Agnes,  realizing  that  ornate  dishes 
were  Margery's  ideal,  ordered  some  vegetable 
coloring  on  her  own  account,  and  at  Sunday 
dinner  served  up  a  wonderful  corn-starch  pud- 
ding shaped  like  a  flag,  and  colored  red,  white 
and  blue.  Margery  decided  that  she  pre- 
ferred not  to  eat  her  patriotism,  and  Agnes 
was  allowed  to  go  back  to  the  old-fashioned, 
country  dishes  at  which  she  was  an  adept. 

From  Agnes  Margery  turned  her  attention 
to  Dick. 


254          MARGERY  MORRIS 

Dick,  at  fifteen,  suffered  the  usual  school- 
boy spasms  of  extreme  elegance  varied  by 
extreme  untidiness.  His  shoes  would  shine 
with  such  brilliance  that  he  had  only  to  look 
downward  to  fall,  Narcissus-like,  in  love  with 
his  own  image,  while  at  the  same  time  his 
hair  showed  an  unconventionality  absolutely 
untrammeled  by  combs  and  brushes.  Again, 
his  socks  and  neckties  were  of  a  resplendence 
equaled  only  by  a  poppy-field  in  its  gayest 
moments  ;  his  hair  of  a  flatness  and  shininess 
suggesting  that  each  particular  hair  had  been 
glued  into  place,  and  then  polished  with  the 
best  brass  polish  on  the  market,  a  refinement 
of  dandyism  marred  only  by  the  fact  that  his 
collar  had  plainly  seen  better  days,  and  many 
of  them.  Cuffs  he  abjured  altogether  ;  he  was 
"  hardening "  his  arms,  he  said,  and  always 
wore  his  shirt  sleeves  rolled  up  to  his  shoulder, 
however  cold  the  day. 

As  tactfully  as  she  could  Margery  dwelt  on 
the  charms  of  clean  collars,  and  Dick  invested 
in  a  beautiful  one  of  white  rubber,  warranted 
never  to  wear  out  and  never  to  need  launder- 
ing ;  which  had  the  merit  of  being  able  to  be 
carried  in  his  pocket  and  put  on,  should  his 


RESPONSIBILITIES          255 

other  one  not  seem  equal  to  the  scrutiny  of 
critical  eyes,  in  the  back  entry,  just  as  the 
dinner  bell  rang.  She  enlarged  on  cuffs,  and 
Dick  continued  to  wear  his  shirt  sleeves  rolled 
up  as  usual,  but  before  meals  he  took  the  pre- 
caution of  sticking  a  pair  of  cuffs  into  his  coat 
sleeves.  The  unattached  cuffs  usually  dived 
into  the  soup,  or  shot  into  the  gravy,  at  crucial 
moments. 

As  a  further  means  of  reform,  Margery  put 
a  toy  bank  on  the  table  and  announced  that 
she  was  going  to  fine  Dick  a  penny  every  time 
that  he  rolled  his  bread  into  pills,  a  favorite 
habit  of  his  which  particularly  irritated  her. 
Dick  grinned.  "  All  right,"  he  said,  "  if  you'll 
pay  up  every  time  that  you  get  a  spot  on  the 
table-cloth,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  cranberry 
stain  with  which  the  young  housekeeper  had 
just  ornamented  the  table-cloth. 

In  the  evenings  Dick  helped  her  with  her 
lessons  and  they  became  good  friends,  although 
Margery  was  so  busy,  and  Dick  spent  so  much 
time  on  the  athletic  field,  that  they  never  had 
time  to  get  much  below  the  surface  in  each 
other's  lives.  Margery  was  surprised,  there- 
fore, when  rummaging  through  a  drawer  in 


256          MARGERT  MORRIS 

one  of  the  bookcases,  she  discovered  a  sketch 
book  of  drawings  of  the  beautiful  old  door- 
ways of  Renwyck's  Town,  and  learned  from 
Deborah  that  they  had  been  drawn  by  Dick. 
His  father,  Deborah  told  her,  had  been  an 
architect,  and  Dick  longed  to  be  one  himself, 
—a  desire  which  received  but  scant  sympathy 
from  Mr.  Morris,  who  had  despised  his  son-in- 
law,  and  grew  angry  whenever  Dick  showed 
any  likeness  to  his  father. 

But  few  letters  came  from  Mr.  Morris,  and 
in  them  he  did  not  mention  Margery.  He 
seemed  to  be  traveling  rapidly  from  small 
town  to  small  town,  and  from  ranch  to  ranch, 
and  he  wrote  testily  that  none  of  his  letters, 
so  far,  had  caught  up  to  him,  and  that  Dick 
ought  to  have  seen  that  they  had.  Just  how 
Dick  was  to  manage  it,  he  did  not  explain. 
It  was  too  soon  yet  for  Margery  to  have  any 
letters  from  her  father  and  mother,  and  alto- 
gether she  had  a  curiously  shut  off  and  de- 
tached feeling, — whenever  she  happened  to 
think  about  it. 

She  did  not  see  the  doctor  again,  as  he  paid 
his  brief  visits  in  the  morning  while  the 
children  were  at  school,  but  he  sent  a  message 


RESPONSIBILITIES          257 

that  she  was  doing  "  splendidly,"  and  would 
"  earn  that  motto  soon." 

The  day  after  Margery  took  command  at 
the  farm  Deborah  insisted  on  being  allowed 
to  sit  up  in  the  easy  chair  by  the  sunny  win- 
dow, well  wrapped  in  two  gay  old  patchwork 
quilts.  "  I  feel  more  useful  this  way, — al- 
though I  don't  have  to  be  useful  at  all,  for 
Margery  takes  such  wonderful  care  of  every- 
thing," she  explained  to  Polly,  who  had  come 
to  spend  the  afternoon. 

Polly  looked  up  from  the  towel  she  was  cross- 
stitching  for  her  mother's  Christmas  present, 
and  regarded  Margery  with  new  respect  and  ad- 
miration. "  Isn't  she  fine ! "  she  said  cordially. 

Margery  undertook  to  read  "  Pride  and 
Prejudice "  aloud  to  Deborah,  and  both  of 
them  fell  in  love  with  sweet,  witty  Elizabeth 
Bennet,  and  laughed  until  they  cried  over 
Mr.  Bennet  and  Mr.  Collins.  Gentle  Deb- 
orah greatly  admired  the  haughty  Mr.  Darcy. 
"  If  I  had  married,"  she  said,  "  that's  the 
kind  of  man  I'd  have  liked  him  to  be."  But 
Margery  preferred  the  genial  and  vivacious 
Mr.  Bingley,  and  even  had  a  sneaking  liking 
for  the  villainous,  but  amiable,  Mr.  Wickham. 


258          MARGERY  MORRIS 

But  when  Deborah  was  weary  or  suffering, 
"  Pride  and  Prejudice  "  was  put  aside,  and  the 
little  old  Bible  of  Deborah's  slipped  out  from 
beneath  the  pillows  that  propped  her  up  in 
the  big  chair.  "  Just  read  me  some  more 
about  David,"  Deborah  would  say ;  "  that 
rests  me  as  nothing  else  does.  I  like  to 
think  of  him  away  up  there  by  himself  in 
those  lonely  hills,  and  I  love  the  descrip- 
tion of  him,  'ruddy,  and  withal  of  a  beau- 
tiful countenance,  and  goodly  to  look  upon.' 
Strange  how  he  was  being  fitted  for  life,  wasn't 
it,  in  all  those  lonely  years  ?  I  suppose  that 
he  learned  to  play  on  his  harp  to  keep  him- 
self from  going  crazy  from  loneliness,  and  he 
practiced  sling  shooting  to  amuse  himself,  and 
to  keep  the  wolves  away  from  his  flock, — if 
he  hadn't  had  those  years  of  trial  he  never 
could  have  faced  his  opportunities.  He  prob- 
ably couldn't  have  played  for  Saul,  and  he 
certainly  couldn't  have  settled  Goliath  with 
a  sling  shot.  That's  the  way  with  the  rest 
of  us,  I  suppose, — we  grumble  because  we  are 
stuck  in  some  lonely  or  dreary  or  dull  stretch 
of  life,  when  really  we  are  being  taught  some- 
thing that  will  be  the  making  of  us." 


RESPONSIBILITIES          259 

Margery  grew  to  love  those  quiet  hours 
with  Deborah.  Often  they  came  late  in  the 
afternoon,  before  the  lights  were  lighted ; 
Dick  would  occasionally  slip  in,  his  manner 
carefully  offhand  and  casual,  but  showing  in 
spite  of  himself  that  underneath  his  boyish 
indifference  he,  too,  appreciated  the  help  and 
comfort  of  Deborah's  simple  philosophy. 

But  best  of  all,  Margery  loved  Benjamin's 
bedtime,  when  she  went  up-stairs  to  cover 
him  up,  and  to  see  that  the  window  was  prop~ 
erly  opened,  and  to  hear  his  whispered  confi- 
dences. The  affectionate  little  lad  had  wormed 
his  way  deeply  into  her  heart,  and  she  was 
quite  sure  that  another  such  handsome  and 
charming  child  never  lived.  On  his  side, 
Benjamin  thought  her  all  that  any  fairy  prin- 
cess was  ever  supposed  to  be. 

"  You're  awful  nice,  Margie  I  "  he  cried  one 
night.  "  You're  awful  nice  to  come  and  take 
care  of  us  all.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  for 
you,  Margie  :  I'll  " — his  gratitude  sought  for 
expression  and  finally  landed  on  the  supreme 
sacrifice  of  all — "  I'll  marry  you  when  I  grow 
up  I  Won't  that  be  nice  for  you,  Margie  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

RICE 

As  Margery  settled  deeper  into  the  rather 
exacting  work  at  school,  the  first  fervor  of 
her  attempts  at  housekeeping  wore  off.  But 
she  continued  to  show  considerable  latent 
ability,  and  managed  her  part  in  the  run- 
ning of  the  household  with,  for  so  young  a 
girl,  force  and  character.  Deborah,  watching 
her  with  kindly,  affectionate  interest,  could 
see  the  capable,  sensible  woman  Margery  was 
to  be  emerging  from  the  spoiled  and  petulant 
child.  Dick  occasionally  made  wicked  allu- 
sions in  Margery's  presence  to  the  nice,  kind 
elephant  that  tried  to  take  care  of  the  poor, 
motherless  chicks  by  sitting  on  them,  but 
Margery  was  used  to  Dick's  teasing  by  this 
time,  and  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to 
him.  From  every  one  else  she  received  an 
amount  of  praise  that  might  have  been  in  a 
fair  way  to  turn  her  head  had  not  that  whole- 
some fall,  which  so  often  follows  swiftly  and 

260 


RICE  261 

surely  on  our  pride,  saved  her  from  any  prig- 
gish aftermath  of  her  own  perfections. 

It  began  with  the  fireman's  parade  in  the 
next  town,  a  festivity  of  such  brilliance  that 
neither  Agnes  nor  the  farmer's  daughter  felt 
that  they  could  miss  it. 

"  Yas'm,"  Agnes  declared,  "  ah's  just  got 
ter  shed  my  responsibles  fer  one  day  an'  go 
ter  that  parade  if  dis  whole  farm  goes  ter  rack 
an'  ruin.  Yas'm,  they's  a-goin'  ter  have  thirty 
colored  gemmen  dressed  up  like  Uncle  Sam, 
an'  a  float  showin'  Marse  Christopher  Colum- 
bus a-makin'  de  fust  American  flag,  an' — well, 
ah  declare  ah  just  couldn't  tell  you  all  der's 
goin'  ter  be.  Yas'm,  ah's  just  got  ter  go  I  " 

It  was  finally  settled  that  the  servants  at 
the  farm  should  go  to  the  parade,  but  that  be- 
fore they  went  the  table  should  be  set,  and 
everything  arranged  that  Margery  would  have 
no  trouble  in  taking  Agnes'  place  for  one 
afternoon  and  evening.  Agnes  planned  out 
a  simple  supper,  and  gave  Margery  such 
explicit  directions  that  she  felt  she  could  get 
the  meal  in  her  sleep. 

The  afternoon  of  the  parade,  when  Mar- 
gery returned  from  a  short  drive  with  Polly, 


262          MARGERT  MORRIS 

she  found  the  house  still  and  practically  de- 
serted. Deborah  was  asleep,  and  the  boys 
were  playing  football  in  the  south  meadow ; 
so,  dumping  off  her  things,  Margery  settled 
down  for  a  quiet  half  hour  with  "  The  Old 
Curiosity  Shop."  The  light  grew  dim,  and 
Margery  hastily  lighted  the  candle  in  the 
old  brass  candlestick  on  the  bureau  that  she 
might  finish  "just  one  more  chapter"  before 
she  went  down-stairs  to  the  kitchen  to  get 
supper.  The  just  one  more  chapter  stretched 
into  two,  and  three,  then  four  and  five; 
the  candle  burnt  down  to  a  little  lump  of 
grease,  and  Margery's  straining  eyes  could 
scarcely  see  the  print  as  she  still  read  on, 
enchanted. 

Suddenly  the  old  clock  in  the  library  be- 
low began  to  whirr  and  wheeze.  "  One,"  it 
hiccoughed,  "  two,  three,  four,  five,  six  !  " 

"  Margery,"  called  Deborah,  "  are  you  get- 
ting supper,  dear?  " 

With  a  startled  gasp  Margery  pitched  her 
book  on  the  bureau,  blew  out  the  flickering 
candle,  and  dashed  down  the  stairs.  The 
kitchen  was  dark  save  for  a  single  ray  of 
light  coming  from  the  stove ;  in  her  frantic 


RICE  263 

search  for  matches  she  fell  over  the  rocking- 
chair,  knocked  against  the  table  and  sent 
something  crashing  against  the  range.  There 
was  an  instant  sizzling,  as  though  a  liquid 
had  landed  on  the  hot  stove,  and  a  disagree- 
able smell  of  some  sweet  substance  burning. 

At  last  her  groping  fingers  encountered  a 
box  of  matches,  and  lighting  the  lamp,  she 
saw  that  she  had  upset  the  jar  of  strawberry 
jam  which  Agnes  had  set  out  for  supper. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  she  wailed,  as,  holding 
her  nose,  she  wiped  up  the  sticky,  scorching 
mess.  "  The  boys  will  be  in  any  minute  as 
hungry  as  bears  !  Oh,  dear, — why  did  I  read 
so  late  ?  Bother !  Bother  !  Bother  !  " 

Full  of  disgust  and  impatience  at  herself, 
she  inspected  the  dainties  spread  on  the 
table :  a  loaf  of  Agnes'  best  nut-cake,  always 
a  special  treat  at  the  farm  ;  half  a  cold  tongue ; 
and  a  bowl  of  cold,  cooked  rice,  to  be  made 
into  rice-cakes.  Margery  was  extravagantly 
fond  of  nut-cake,  so  she  decided  on  cutting 
the  loaf  at  once,  and  by  a  generous  slice  en- 
couraging herself  for  her  further  labors.  She 
cut  her  thumb — of  course  ! — just  as  Deborah 
had  once  prophesied  would  happen  if  she  did 


264          MARGERY  MORRIS 

not  learn  to  hold  a  knife  properly.  Margery 
hated  the  sight  of  blood,  and  that,  together 
with  the  pain  from  the  cut,  made  her  feel 
sick  and  faint.  Her  knees  wobbling  un- 
certainly under  her,  she  staggered  out  to  the 
back  porch,  where  the  crisp,  cold  air  revived 
her,  and  she  managed  to  bandage  the  hacked 
thumb  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  sighed,  tenderly  pulling 
the  bandage  tighter  around  her  thumb,  "  I'm 
so  tired  !  I'm  homesick  ;  I  wish  that  I  were 
back  home  with  Mamma  and  Papa.  If  ever 
I  do  get  home  I'll  never  go  away  again ! 
Oh,  Mamma  ! — I  miss  you  so  I  Scat  I  You 
rascal !  " 

This  last  to  old  Ebenezer,  the  barn  cat,  who 
came  skulking  out  of  the  house,  carrying 
something  in  his  mouth.  Ebenezer's  visit 
had  been  highly  profitable  to  himself, — as 
was  only  too  evident  to  Margery  when  she 
hurried  into  the  kitchen.  The  cold  tongue 
was  gone ! 

As  she  stood  staring  at  the  empty  platter 
there  was  a  prodigious  stamping  of  feet  and 
shouting  in  the  back  entry,  and  Dick  appeared 
at  the  door  to  announce  that  he  had  brought 


WHAT'S  THIS  IN  THE  FRYIKG-PAN  ?'' 


RICE  265 

Sam  Bennett  back  with  him  to  supper.  He 
received  no  answer  beyond  a  groan,  and  after 
waiting  a  moment  for  a  more  cordial  response, 
he  vanished. 

With  the  calm  of  despair  Margery  added 
the  eggs  to  the  rice — forgetting  the  flour  and 
the  salt — and  slapped  a  spoonful  of  the  mix- 
ture into  the  frying-pan. 

"  Isn't  supper  ready  yet?"  demanded  Dick, 
coming  into  the  kitchen  a  few  minutes  later. 
"  We're  mighty  hungry  I  What's  this  in  the 
frying-pan  ? "  he  added,  wrinkling  a  critical 
nose.  "  Rice-cakes  ?  Looks  like  fried  soup ! 
Great  Scott,  Marge,  a  blind  duck  in  a  thunder- 
storm could  cook  better  than  you  do  I " 

This  fine  specimen  of  masculine  tact  was 
too  much  for  the  amateur  cook.  Bursting 
into  tears,  she  flung  the  remaining  rice  batter 
at  Dick's  astonished  head,  and  rushed  from 
the  kitchen. 

Safe  in  her  own  room,  she  flung  herself 
down  on  the  bed,  and  burying  her  head  under 
the  folded  quilt  at  its  foot,  wept  tragically. 
The  homesickness  which,  for  the  past  few 
days,  had  been  hovering  over  her  like  a  hawk 
over  a  chicken,  had  swooped  down. 


266          MARGERY  MORRIS 

But  the  tears  would  not  last  long,  and  after 
vainly  trying  to  squeeze  out  a  few  extra  ones, 
she  stuck  her  head  out  from  under  the  quilt, 
and  lay  thinking.  Was  she  to  be  beaten  and 
kept  weeping  in  her  room  by  a  cut  thumb 
and  fried  rice-cakes  ?  No,  indeed. 

She  sat  up  to  consider  the  matter.  With  a 
choking  sob  she  recalled  a  phrase  often  on 
her  father's  lips,  "  Be  a  sport,  little  girl.  Be 
a  sport !  "  Well,  she  supposed  that  she  wasn't 
being  much  of  a  sport  now  ;  besides,  Deborah 
must  be  wanting  her  supper.  She  would  have 
to  brace  up  and  go  down-stairs  to  get  her  some 
toast  and  tea.  But  oh,  dear,  how  she  did  dread 
facing  those  boys ! 

As,  cherry-nosed  and  swollen-eyed,  Margery 
marched  down  the  stairs  she  met  Dick,  carry- 
ing a  lighted  lamp  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  a  plate,  whereon  lay  a  dejected  and 
leathery-looking  fried  egg,  and  several  pieces 
of  bacon. 

"  Oh,  hello,  Marge,"  he  beamed.  "  I  was 
just  bringing  you  up  some  supper.  Hadn't 
you  better  come  down  and  help  me  get 
Deborah's? — you  know  how  she  likes  her 
tray  fixed  better  than  I  do.  She's  been  call- 


RICE  267 

ing  for  you.  And  see  here,  kid,"  he  added 
shyly,  "  I'm  awfully  sorry  I  upset  you.  You 
bet  I  am  !  " 

"  Mercy,  Dick, — it  wasn't  your  fault  I  I'm 
sorry  I  was  such  an  idiot.  But  I  was  so  tired, 
and  Ebenezer  stole  the  tongue  Agnes  had  put 
out  for  us,  and  I  upset  the  jam  all  over  the 
stove,  and  it  scorched  horribly,  and  I  cut  my 
thumb, — and  then  you  came  in  and  added  the 
last  straw  !  " 

"  That's  too  bad,"  Dick  sympathized.  "  I'm 
mighty  sorry.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  and  I 
could  have  helped  you?  I  can  cook  eggs  to 
beat  any  cook  living,"  and  Dick  proudly  held 
up  the  plate  with  the  rapidly  chilling  fried 

egg- 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Margery  sweetly  as  she 
accepted  the  plate  ;  "  that  looks — very  nice. 
Oh,  Dick !  "  she  cried  as  Dick  shifted  the 
lamp  to  his  other  hand,  and  the  light  fell  on 
his  head,  "  your  hair  is  all  full  of  rice  !  " 

Dick  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair,  and 
withdrew  it  well  covered  with  rice  batter. 
"So  it  is!"  he  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 
"That's  what  Benjamin  and  Sam  were  laugh- 
ing about, — I  wondered  what  had  struck  them, 


268          MARGERY  MORRIS 

and  they  wouldn't  tell  me  the  joke.  Well, 
that's  one  on  me  !  " 

"  It  certainly  is  one  on  you,"  giggled 
Margery. 

After  a  moment's  uncertainty  Dick  joined 
in  her  amusement,  and  they  leaned  against 
the  banisters  in  peals  of  laughter. 

"What's  the  joke?"  cried  Deborah  from 
above.  "  And  where's  my  supper?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  Margery  gasped,  as,  weak  from 
so  much  merriment  following  upon  so  much 
grief,  she  sank  on  the  bottom  step.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  throwing  the  stuff  at  you. 
Oh,  dear, — if  anybody  ever  says  '  rice '  to  me, 
I  shall  die !  " 

And  indeed,  for  days  after  that,  neither 
Dick  nor  Margery  considered  anything  to  be 
half  so  witty  as  the  mere  mention  of  the  one 
word — rice. 


CHAPTER  XVin 

THE   L.    A.    L.    MEETS 

"  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW  was 
born  in  Maine.  When  he  grew  up  he  went 
to  Spain." 

With  a  long  yawn  Margery  put  down  her 
pencil,  and  clasping  her  hands  behind  her 
head,  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  What  else 
could  she  find  to  say  ?  The  L.  A.  L.  was  to 
have  its  initial  meeting  at  Polly's  house  the 
next  afternoon,  and  each  member  was  to  read 
an  original  paper.  Polly's  cousin,  Miss  Hoo- 
ver, the  novelist,  had  offered  to  give  a  prize 
of  a  silver  pin  for  the  best  effort.  And  poor 
Margery,  who  burned  to  achieve  literary 
fame,  could  think  of  nothing  to  write  about ! 

"  Oh,  Margie,  Deborah  wants  you,  please," 
announced  Benjamin,  suddenly  appearing. 
"  Pshaw  I "  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  pencil 
lying  on  the  table.  "  You've  chewed  all  the 
paint  off  the  end  of  my  new  pencil  I  It  was 
a  ten-center,  too  I  " 

269 


270          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Benjamin  dear,"  Mar- 
gery apologized,  genuinely  distressed  at  the 
havoc  she  had  wrought.  "  I'll  buy  you  a 
new  one,  really  I  will, — two  new  ones.  You 
see,"  lowering  her  voice  confidentially,  "  I'm 
trying  to  write  a  paper  for  to-morrow.  Don't 
tell  Dick,  for  we  don't  want  the  boys  to  know 
— they'd  make  fun  of  us — but  Polly  and 
Esther  and  I  are  all  going  to  write  papers, 
and  then  to-morrow  we're  going  to  read  them 
at  Polly's  house,  and  Miss  Hoover,  Polly's 
cousin,  will  give  us  a  prize  for  the  best  one. 
I'm  stuck, — simply  can't  think  of  a  thing 
to  write  about.  Esther  ruled  travel  articles 
out,  because  she  says  she's  never  been  any- 
where, so  we  have  to  either  write  an  original 
story,  or  a  sketch  of  some  writer.  It  would 
be  easy  enough  if  I  could  only  write  about 
some  of  the  places  out  home." 

Benjamin  continued  to  ruefully  inspect  his 
battered  pencil.  "  Deborah  knows  lots  of 
stories,"  he  suggested,  "  about  Indians  and 
bears  and  things.  Will  you  get  me  a  plaid 
pencil  like  Reggie  Smedly's,  Margie?  And  a 
green  one,  with  a  rubber  on  the  end  ?  You 
can  get  awful  nice  pencils  at  Wilson's,  Margie." 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         271 

"  Awful-fo/  nice,"  corrected  Margery,  auto- 
matically. "  Wasn't  I  stupid  not  to  think 
of  Deborah  ?  " 

Deborah  proved  to  be  a  gold  mine  of  old 
legends  and  quaint  stories,  and  it  was  with 
high  hopes  of  winning  the  prize  that  Margery 
presented  herself  at  the  Jamesons'  front  door 
on  the  following  afternoon. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jameson  were  standing  in  the 
hall  and  turned  to  speak  to  her  as  she  en- 
tered. "  So  this  is  the  little  girl  who  is  tak- 
ing care  of  them  out  at  the  farm  so  splen- 
didly?" exclaimed  Mr.  Jameson;  "  and  now 
you  are  going  to  cover  yourself  with  literary 
honors  ?  Well,  well,  what  the  young  people 
of  the  present  day  can't  do  isn't  worth  doing. 
No  wonder  that  you're  all  thin,  like  Polly, 
though." 

Neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Jameson  could  be  ac- 
cused of  being  unduly  thin ;  indeed,  they 
made  up  for  Polly's  shortcomings  in  the 
matter  of  avoirdupois  by  both  being  exceed- 
ing plump,  a  nice,  rosy,  cheerful  plumpness. 
They  themselves,  however,  did  not  admire  it, 
and  were  "always  intending  to  undergo  some 
new  treatment  of  exercise  or  dieting  that 


272          MARGERT  MORRIS 

they  believed  would  make  them  over  into 
graceful,  willowy  beings,  and  always  finding 
that  the  weather  was  too  warm,  or  too  cold, 
to  undertake  the  treatment  just  then,  and  so 
postponing  it  until  the  season  should  be 
"  more  settled." 

Polly  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
"  Come  up,  Margery,"  she  called.  "  Esther's 
here,  and  we  will  begin  just  as  soon  as  Mother 
and  Cousin  Elizabeth  can  be  persuaded  to 
join  us." 

The  meeting  of  the  L.  A.  L.  was  held  in 
Polly's  own  room,  that  remarkable  apartment 
which  Mrs.  Jameson  was  rarely  able  to  enter 
without  saying  pathetically,  "  Well,  Polly 
darling,  if  you  and  your  father  think  this 
room  is  pretty,  I  suppose  it  is  all  right ;  but 
to  me  it  looks  exactly  like  a  dog's  dinner, — 
all  made  up  of  scraps  of  odds  and  ends." 

Polly,  indeed,  had  indulged  her  fickle  taste 
to  the  utmost.  On  her  twelfth  birthday  her 
parents  had  furnished  the  room  as  her  birth- 
day present  in  mahogany,  heavy,  comfortable 
and  handsome,  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jameson 
themselves.  But  it  was  not  at  all  according 
to  Polly's  ideal,  and  she  had  seldom  gone  to 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         273 

the  city  with  her  father  without  that  amiable 
and  doting  man  being  persuaded  into  buying 
some  new  piece  of  furniture  "  to  liven  things 
up,  Father  dear."  Her  tastes  never  ran  in 
the  same  lines  twice,  and  on  one  day  Mr. 
Jameson  would  be  beguiled  into  buying  a 
Louis  Quinze  gilt  sofa,  while  on  the  next  he 
would  pay  the  bill  for  a  massive  carved  oak 
chair  that  looked  as  though  it  had  come  from 
a  doge's  palace,  but  which  really  had  been 
manufactured  by  the  hundreds  in  Michigan. 
Her  taste  in  pictures  was  as  catholic  as  her 
taste  in  furniture,  and  cheek  by  jowl  with  a 
beautiful  copy  of  the  Madonna  of  the  Corona- 
tion were  pinned  up  rows  of  the  pudgy, 
squdgy  infants  advertising  a  popular  brand  of 
soup.  Over  the  bookcase  hung  a  quaint  old 
sampler,  on  which  the  laborious  fingers  of  a 
long-ago  great-grandmother  had  cross-stitched 
with  more  industry  than  knowledge  of 
zoology  : 

11  Oh,  may  Thy  powerful  word 
Inspire  a  breathing  worm 
To  rush  into  Thy  kingdom,  Lord, 
To  take  it  as  by  storm." 

Across  the  room  from  this  effusion  hung  n 


274          MARGERY  MORRIS 

salmon-cheeked  young  lady  who  simpered 
archly  at  a  young  gentleman  in  scarlet  hunt- 
ing-coat and  jockey-cap,  who  had  evidently  just 
presented  her  with  a  box  of  stove-blacking  ;  a 
masterpiece  which  the  Jamesons'  grocer  had 
bestowed  on  all  his  patrons  the  Christmas 
when  Polly  was  ten,  and  which  had  so  charmed 
her  that  she  had  insisted  on  having  it  framed. 

At  fourteen  Polly  herself  had  come  to  laugh 
at  these  decorative  eccentricities.  But  they 
had  been  dear  to  her  childish  heart,  and  she 
remained  loyal  to  them,  as  she  did  to  Rosa- 
belle  Marie,  the  battered  old  doll  whom  she 
had  loved,  and  who  now  enjoyed  a  well- 
earned  repose  in  her  chair  in  a  corner  of  the 
room. 

Under  the  lovely  picture  of  the  stove-black- 
ing lady,  Polly  had  placed  a  table  covered 
with  Mrs.  Jameson's  best  table-cloth.  On  this 
she  placed  four  rolls  of  manuscript  with  all 
the  pomp  and  dignity  of  a  colored  preacher 
taking  up  the  collection.  With  a  bow  she 
turned  toward  the  judges,  Miss  Hoover  and 
Mrs.  Jameson,  who  had  seated  themselves  on 
a  frail  gift  sofa  that  threatened  to  collapse  at 
any  moment,  and  announced : 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS          275 

"  Our  distinguished  visitor,  Miss  Margaret 
Morris,  will  open  the  meeting  by  reading  her 
paper.  Oh,  Margery,  won't  you  ?  Oh,  go  on, 
— don't  be  shy  I  Won't  you  really  ?  Well, 
Esther  then.  Oh,  Esther,  do, — please  1  Well, 
then, — since  everybody  is  so  bashful  and  mod- 
est all  of  a  sudden,  I'll  have  to  break  the  ice 
and  read  my  paper  first.  I  ought  to  be  glad 
— perhaps  1 — to  catch  this  noble  audience's  en- 
thusiasm while  it  is  at  high  tide  and  hasn't 
had  a  chance  to  cool  down,  and  to  nail  it  down 
with  my  own  literary  flower.  How's  that  for 
mixed  metaphors,  Cousin  Elizabeth  ? 

"  Well,  my  literary  gem  is  in  the  style  of 
the  novel  Lizzie,  that's  Cousin  Amy's  pretty 
little  waitress,  lent  me  one  time  when  I  was 
visiting  Cousin  Amy,  and  was — don't  mention 
that  I  mentioned  it — nearly  dying  of  dullness. 
I'm  sure  everybody  here  will  appreciate  its 
high-brow  tone." 

"  Suppose  you  begin  to  read,  dear, — you  can 
do  your  talking  afterward,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Jameson,  mildly. 

"  Anon !  Anon !  I'll  begin  as  soon  as 
I've  made  my  bow."  Polly  bowed  and  com- 
menced : 


276          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  With  a  cold  sneer  Sir  Algernon  De  Will- 
oughby  De  Montague  gazed  down  at  the 
lovely  Lady  Geraldine.  '  To-morrow/  he  mut- 
tered, '  to-mor-r-row  you  shall  be  my  bride.' 
Lady  Geraldine's  damask  cheek  turned  snowy 
white,  and  her  great,  beautiful  dark  eyes 
drooped.  '  My  father  has  not  given  his  con- 
sent,' she  said,  her  silvery  voice  as  soft  as  a 
zephyr  murmuring  through  the  forest  at  even. 
1  Even  so,'  returned  the  other,  a  note  of  triumph 
in  his  cruel,  rich  voice.  '  Alas  ! '  sighed  the 
unhappy  bride-elect.  '  Water !  I  swoon  ! ' 
As  Sir  Algernon  stepped  to  the  bell  to  sum- 
mon a  footman,  a  tall,  handsome  man,  in  the 
uniform  of  a  hussar,  handsome  as  a  Greek  god, 
dashed  toward  the  beautiful,  swooning  girl, 
and  lifting  her  fragile  form  in  his  arms,  hur- 
ried from.the  room." 

Polly  paused  and  took  a  long  breath. 
"  That's  all  of  that  part,"  she  announced. 
"  My  paper  is  in  two  sections.  Just  as  I  had 
finished  writing  the  part  that  I've  just  read, 
Mother  made  me  stop  and  take  my  shoes  to 
the  shoemaker  and  see  if  he  couldn't  do  some- 
thing to  take  the  squeak  out  of  them.  When 
I  was  trotting  home  again  from  the  shoemak- 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         277 

er's,  Sam  Bennett  came  up  back  of  me  on  his 
bicycle — he  has  no  business  riding  on  the  side- 
walks— and  rang  his  bell  suddenly  in  my  ear. 
I  squawked,  and  hopped  frantically  off  the 
curbstone,  with  the  result  that  I  caught  my 
tongue  between  my  teeth,  and  gave  it  an 
awful  bite.  Then  I  scolded  Sam  for  having 
startled  me  so, — and  altogether,  by  the  time  I 
got  home,  I  couldn't  remember  how  I  had 
meant  to  finish  my  story.  But  I  couldn't  help 
remembering  my  poor  tongue,  so  I  wrote  a 
sad,  sad  poem  about  it.  At  the  close  of  the 
reading  of  the  poem  the  audience  will  please 
rise  and  join  in  weeping.  Here  goes  : 

"  Then  did  Hiawatha  stepping, 
Stepping  off  the  curbstone,  quickly, 
Curbstone,  dark,  and  hard,  and  stony, 
Curbstone,  wide,  and  brown,  and  muddy, 
Curbstone  leading  to  the  gutter, 
With  his  tongue  between  his  teeth, 
With  his  red  tongue  'twixt  his  teeth, 
Bite  his  tongue  betwixt  his  strong  teeth, 
As  he  stepped  from  off  the  curbstone. 
Bite  so  hard  it  brought  the  tears  his  eyes  to, 
So  hard  it  made  him  mutter  words  unwise,  too, 
Made  him  scowl,  and  dance,  and  splutter. 
Thus  did  Hiawatha,  stepping  from  the  curb- 
stone, bite  his  tongue  through. 


278          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"There!"  exploded  Polly  with  relief,  plump- 
ing down  on  her  mother's  lap,  a  proceeding 
which,  considering  the  heavy  burden  it  al- 
ready bore,  threatened  to  finish  the  life  of  the 
little  sofa  altogether.  "  Now  then,  Margery 
will  have  to  read  hers." 

Margery  got  up  rather  slowly,  and  unrolled 
her  manuscript.  While  Polly  had  been  read- 
ing, Margery  had  been  regarding  Miss  Hoover 
with  a  whole-hearted  absorption  so  eager  and 
unconscious  that  Miss  Hoover  had  smiled  to 
herself  as  she  pretended  not  to  notice  it.  At 
first  Margery  had  been  disappointed ;  this 
quiet,  middle-aged  woman,  with  the  sweet, 
sensible  face,  was  far  from  her  ideal  of  what  a 
successful  novelist  ought  to  look  like.  But 
she  forgot  her  disappointment  when  Miss 
Hoover  laughed  at  Polly's  nonsense,  a  mu- 
sical, merry  laugh  that  seemed  to  reveal  a 
sympathetic,  genuine  personality.  Margery 
at  once  began  to  yield  her  that  devotion  a 
young  girl  so  often  has  for  an  older  woman, 
and  palpitated  with  dread  lest  Miss  Hoover 
should  not  approve  of  her  or  her  attempt  at 
story  telling. 

"  I'm  afraid  my  story  isn't  bright  and  funny 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         279 

like  Polly's,"  she  said.  "  I  haven't  any  Sir 
Willoughby  about  mine.  Mine  is  just  a  story 
of  the  old  Colonial  days  that  Deborah  told  me. 
"  In  the  early  days  of  this  country's  his- 
tory," she  began,  reading  carefully  and  dis- 
tinctly, "  when  the  settlers  often  lived  in 
lonely  clearings  in  the  woods,  there  dwelt 
somewhere  in  the  forests  of  old  West  Jersey  a 
Quaker  couple  named  Heuling  and  their  two 
children,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  In  those  times, 
when  there  was  accident  or  illness,  neighbors 
had  to  act  for  each  other  as  doctors  and  nurses. 
One  afternoon  as  the  Heulings  were  just  finish- 
ing making  the  family  soap,  boiling  it  up  in 
a  big  cauldron,  hung  gypsy  fashion  over  a 
fire  in  the  clearing  by  the  front  door,  their 
nearest  neighbor,  who  lived  five  miles  away, 
came  riding  up.  '  Friend  Reuben  Heuling,' 
he  called,  as  soon  as  he  was  within  speaking 
distance,  '  will  thee  and  thy  wife  come  to  my 
help?  My  good  wife  Mary  is  very  ill.'  As 
soon  as  was  possible  Reuben  Heuling  saddled 
his  horse  and,  taking  his  wife  up  behind  him, 
hurried  with  the  neighbor  to  the  aid  of  the 
sick  woman.  Martha  Heuling  felt  rather 
timid  about  leaving  her  little  boy  and  girl 


280          MARGERT  MORRIS 

alone  in  the  cabin,  for  night  was  falling,  and 
they  were  only  six  and  seven  respectively. 
But  it  could  not  be  helped,  so  she  bade  them 
stick  close  to  the  cabin,  and  to  run  indoors 
and  bar  the  door  should  any  noise  startle 
them. 

"  After  their  parents  had  ridden  away, 
Clement  and  Agnes  Heuling  played  about  the 
big  soap  cauldron,  watching  the  dying  em- 
bers of  the  fire,  and  finally  throwing  water 
on  it  to  quench  them  entirely.  Suddenly  a 
crashing  through  the  woods  and  a  growl  sent 
them  trembling  into  the  house.  Hastily  bar- 
ring the  door,  they  peeped  through  the  open- 
ing which  served  for  a  window.  There,  sniff- 
ing at  the  cauldron  of  hot  soap,  was  a  huge, 
clumsy  bear.  The  hot  cauldron  burnt  his 
nose,  and  with  a  growl  he  dropped  back  and 
struck  at  it  with  his  paw.  That  shook  the 
cauldron,  and  some  of  the  hot  soap  spilled 
over  on  his  paw.  With  another  growl,  again 
he  struck  at  the  cauldron,  and  again  the  hot 
soap  spilled  over  him.  Then  the  frightened 
children  saw  him  stand  up  on  his  hind  legs, 
and  with  a  long,  angry  growl  commence  to 
the  cauldron  as  though  it  were  human 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         281 

and  he  wanted  to  hug  it  to  death.  It  burnt 
him  terribly,  of  course,  for  it  had  been  heated 
so  thoroughly  over  the  fire  that  it  held  its 
heat  for  a  long  time.  The  more  it  burnt 
him,  the  tighter  he  hugged  and  the  louder 
he  growled,  and  the  tighter  he  hugged  the 
worse  it  burned.  '  Clement,'  whispered  Agnes, 
'  father's  gun  ! '  Then  Clement,  little  boy  of 
six  as  he  was,  climbed  up,  and  took  his 
father's  gun  down  from  above  the  fireplace 
where  it  hung.  Pioneer  children,  they  knew 
how  to  load  it,  and  then  together  they  carried 
it  to  the  window.  Carefully  they  aimed,  and 
then  together  they  fired.  The  recoil  sent 
them  flying ;  when  they  picked  themselves 
up,  there  was  the  bear  lying  dead.  They  were 
too  frightened,  however,  to  risk  leaving  the 
cabin,  and  waited  patiently  until  the  moon 
rose  high  above  the  trees,  and  their  father 
and  mother  returned.  But  it  was  many  a 
long  day  before  they  forgot  that  bear." 

"  That  was  fine,"  cried  Miss  Hoover.  "  And 
so  clearly  read.  I  enjoyed  that  ever  so  much, 
my  dear." 

Margery  blushed  with  pleasure.  "  It  was 
all  Deborah,  really,"  she  said  frankly.  "  She 


282          MARGERT  MORRIS 

told  me  the  story  and  helped  me  to  write  it. 
I'd  have  made  a  fizzle  of  it  without  her." 

"  Now  then,  Esther,"  Polly  commanded, 
"  you  read  yours." 

"  You  read  it,"  she  whispered,  shoving  her 
neatly  written  paper  at  Polly. 

Polly  laughed.  "All  right,  but  I  don't 
read  nearly  as  well  as  you  do.  Well,  since 
you  won't 

"  '  About  two  hundred  years  ago,  one  chilly 
afternoon  in  autumn,  a  fair  young  girl  sat 
alone  in  a  tower  room  of  a  lonely  Scotch 
castle.  Her  lovely  blond  head  reclined  on 
her  small,  white  hand,  and  her  sweet,  thought- 
ful eyes  fell  on  the  floor.' 

"  Hope  she  picked  them  up,"  threw  in 
Polly. 

"  *  Now  and  then  she  sighed  (Usually  spelled 
e-i-g-h-e-d,  Esther,  not  s-i-e-d)  for ' 

"  Polly,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Jameson,  "  come 
out  in  the  hall  with  me." 

They  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
when  they  came  back  Polly  was  visibly 
chastened.  "  Now,  having  had  my  lecture 
for  being  rude,  I'll  go  on,"  she  said  meekly. 
"  Really,  Esther  dear,"  slipping  her  arm 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         283 

around  Esther's  neck,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
anything  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

Esther  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  don't  mind  you, 
Polly, — I  suppose  Agag  happened  to  be  on  the 
job  again,"  she  added,  teasingly. 

Mrs.  Jameson  laughed,  too,  and  shook  her 
head  ruefully.  "  When  Polly  was  little,"  she 
said,  "  she  used  to  get  what  she  called  '  kihka- 
je\v.'  In  other  words,  so  happy  and  excited 
that  she  simply  didn't  know  what  she  was 
doing.  If  this  amount  of  literature  excites 
her  so,  and  makes  her  so  '  kinkajew,'  I  dread 
to  think  what  will  happen  if  she  ever  realizes 
her  ambition  and  becomes  a  writer  and  lec- 
turer." 

"  She  will  probably  stop  in  the  middle  of  a 
lecture  she  is  giving,"  teased  Miss  Hoover, 
"  and  begin  to  career  madly  round  and  round 
the  platform.  When  her  startled  manager 
comes  hurriedly  forward  to  find  out  if  she 
has  been  taken  ill,  Polly  will  sweetly  explain 
that  he  really  mustn't  mind,  as  she  is  merely 
feeling  '  kinkajew/  because  she  is  enjoying 
lecturing  so  much  to  such  a  nice,  appreciative 
audience." 

Esther  and    Margery  laughed,   but  Polly 


284          MARGERT  MORRIS 

maintained  a  severe  solemnity,  although  her 
eyes  twinkled.  "  If  you  ladies  are  ready," 
she  remarked,  "I  will  go  on  with  this  highly 
instructive  and  profitable  tale  : 

" '  Now  and  then  she  sighed,  for  she  was 
almost  the  last  of  her  brothers  and  sisters  to 
be  left  in  the  old  nest,  "  whence  all  but  she 
had  fled,"  and  she  was  lonely.  Idly  she  drew 
a  sheet  of  paper  toward  her  and  began  to 
muse  on  the  verses  she  had  been  writing  the 
day  before.  The  door  opened,  and  her  little 
sister  Elizabeth  came  into  the  room.  "  I  have 
been  writing  a  ballad,  my  dear,"  said  Lady 
Anne.  "  I  am  oppressing  my  heroine  with 
misfortune ;  I  have  sent  her  lover  to  sea, 
broken  her  father's  arm,  made  her  father  fall 
sick,  and  given  her  old  Robin  for  a  lover,  but 
I  wish  to  load  her  with  a  fifth  sorrow,  poor 
thing  I  Help  me,  I  pray  I  "  "  Steal  the  cow, 
Sister  Anne,"  suggested  little  Elizabeth.  So 
Lady  Anne  stole  the  cow,  and  the  ballad  was 
finished,  which  made  Lady  Anne  famous, 
after  which  our  club  is  named.' '  Polly  sat 
down  and  fanned  her  flushed  face. 

"Fine,"  declared  Miss  Hoover.  "That  was 
very  interesting,  Esther,  and  must  have  cost 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         285 

you  some  hours  at  the  library.  Let  me  see — 
Auld  Robin  was  the  shepherd  who  told  on 
Lady  Anne  and  the  rest  of  the  children 
when  they  tried  to  run  away,  wasn't  he  ? 
He  certainly  had  his  name  made  famous  as 
punishment,  didn't  he?  I  was  reading  to 
Polly  and  her  mother  one  evening  here  that 
when  Lady  Anne  sang  the  ballad  to  an  old 
gentleman,  a  neighbor,  he  grew  very  angry 
and  cried,  '  Ah,  the  auld  rascal !  I  ken  wha 
stealt  the  puir  lassie's  coo, — it  was  auld  Robin 
himsel' ! '  But  now  for  the  pin,  I  suppose." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  decide,  Cousin 
Elizabeth,  which  of  three  such  geniuses  de- 
serves the  pin?"  asked  Polly.  "You  will 
have  to  chop  it  up  in  three  pieces." 

Miss  Hoover  opened  the  little  silk  work-bag 
she  carried  on  her  arm.  "  I  thought  of  that, 
Polly,"  she  smiled,  holding  out  three  little 
white  boxes.  "  I  really  couldn't  decide 
among  three  such  interesting  and  different 
papers, — but  I  should  like  to  have  the  proud 
distinction  of  giving  their  membership  badges 
to  the  to-be-famous  members  of  the  L.  A.L." 

The  pins  were  quaint  little  enameled  daisies. 
"  Skiudily  scrumptious  !  "  Polly  declared,  as 


286          MARGERT  MORRIS 

she  fastened  her  pin  on  the  left  side  of  her 
blouse  like  a  policeman's  badge.  "  We  can't 
keep  these  pins  secret, — we'll  just  have  to  show 
them,  and  tell  about  the  L.  A.  L." 

"  I'll  give  a  pin  to  the  girl  who,  at  the  end 
of  a  month,  can  carry  on  a  conversation  with 
the  fewest  '  awfullys,'  and  '  crazys  '  and  '  sim- 
ply wild  about  its,'  "  Mrs.  Jameson  remarked. 
"  I'm  afraid  that  Polly  won't  win  that  prize  !  " 

"  I'm  perfectly  crazy  about  your  offer, 
Mother  dear,"  said  Polly  saucily.  "  And  I'm 
awfully  certain  that  I'll  win  the  pin.  I'll  be 
terribly  disappointed  if  I  don't,  for  I'm  simply 
wild  about  the  idea.  All  right,  Mother,  I 
really  will  try  to  speak  proper,  dignified  Eng- 
lish, but  it's  awfully  hard, — oh,  dear,  I  mean 
it's  hard.  Why  so  silent,  Margery  Daw  ?  " 

Margery  finished  fastening  her  pin  into  the 
orange  tie  she  was  wearing.  "  I  was  think- 
ing," she  said  slowly.  "  Yes,  thinking,"  she 
went  on,  paying  no  attention  to  Polly's  dra- 
matic gesture  of  surprise,  "  what  fun  writing 
these  silly  stories  and  reading  them  has  been." 

Polly  crossed  her  eyes  in  token  of  her 
gratitude.  "  Thank  you,  sweet  one,  for  your 
honest  opinion  of  my  literary  efforts  I  " 


THE  L.  A.  L.  MEETS         287 

Margery  laughed  and  slipped  her  arm 
through  Polly's.  "  Oh,  you  know  what  I 
mean, — I  mean  I  was  thinking  that  I  never 
should  have  imagined  that  there  could  be  so 
much  fun  in  such  a  simple  little  pleasure." 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,"  said  Polly,  with 
that  ready  sympathy  which  was  one  of  her 
charms.  "  Sometimes  it  seems  as  though 
having  everything  you  wanted  was  the  only 
thing  that  could  make  you  happy,  and  then 
suddenly  you  find  that  that  hasn't  anything 
to  do  with  it.  Let's  form  a  society  for  the 
promotion  of  simple  pleasures  for  simple 
minds,"  she  added,  for  she  never  could  be 
serious  for  long.  "  And  now  for  the  hot 
chocolate, — with  big  fat  marshmallows  to  put 
in  it." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"THAT  BABY  is  ME!" 

"  I'M  sorry,  Polly,  but  I'll  have  to  skip 
now,"  said  Esther  as  the  girls  finished  their 
hot  chocolate.  "  I  promised  Mother  that  I'd 
go  around  to  Grandmother's  while  I'm  here 
in  town.  Good-bye,  Margery.  Good-bye, 
Polly  ;  I've  had  a  perfect  time." 

"Oh,  Polly!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jameson, 
coming  to  the  dining-room  door  as  Esther 
left.  "  What  do  you  suppose !  I  promised 
Aunt  Helen — don't  you  remember  ? — to  take 
her  some  partridge  berries  for  her  '  shut-ins ' 
when  I  go  up  to  the  city  to-morrow, — and  I 
forgot  all  about  it  until  just  this  minute  !  " 

"  Can't  you  send  William  out  to  the  woods 
for  some  ?  " 

"  William  is  driving  the  car  for  your  father 
this   afternoon.     Do   you    think  anybody  in' 
town  here  would  have  any  to  sell?" 

"  I'm  sure  nobody  has.  But  Margery  and 
I  can  go  and  pick  you  some." 

288 


"THAT  BABT  IS  ME!"       289 

"Oh,  do  you  think  you  can,  Polly  dear? 
And  what  about  Margery — does  she  have  to 
go  right  back  to  the  farm  ?  " 

"  I  can  go  with  Polly,  Mrs.  Jameson,"  Mar- 
gery said.  "  I  don't  have  to  go  right  home, 
for  Deborah  is  practically  well  now, — she's  up 
and  around  the  house,  at  any  rate.  She  had 
a  pretty  sharp  attack  of  rheumatism,  but  it 
didn't  last  long,  fortunately." 

"  Oh,  that's  fine,  dear.  Well,  suppose  you 
girls  go  right  off  then.  Aunt  Helen  is  quite 
old  now,  and  I  do  hate  to  disappoint  her  in 
anything." 

As  the  girls  were  climbing  into  the  brake- 
cart,  Mrs.  Jameson  came  flying  out  of  the 
house. 

"  Where  are  you  going  for  the  berries, 
Polly?" 

"  To  that  little  strip  of  woods  over  on 
the  pike, — that's  where  the  best  berries 
grow." 

"  I  thought  that  you  would  go  there. 
Won't  you,  while  you're  so  near  to  Mr. 
Morris's,  just  pop  over  and  leave  this  little 
bottle  of  elderberry  wine  ?  The  other  bottle 
I  sent  was  such  a  tiny  one, — and  the  nurse 


290          MARGERT  MORRIS 

seemed  so  pleased  with  it,  when  she  tele- 
phoned to  thank  me,  that  I  thought  I  would 
send  some  more.  And  while  you  are  there, 
Polly,  I  wish  you  would  just  ask  to  see  the 
nurse, — and  find  out  from  her  how  Mr.  Morris 
is  doing  now.  It  doesn't  seem  kind  not  to 
inquire, — and  yet  I  hate  to  telephone  too 
often.  The  ringing  of  a  telephone  bell  is  so 
annoying  when  one  is  ill  I  Don't  stay  late, — 
remember,  dear! " 

Polly  gathered  up  the  reins  and  Spy  moved 
off.  Laughing  and  chattering,  the  two  girls 
drove  through  the  quiet  old  streets,  already 
grown  so  familiar  to  Margery,  to  the  broad 
white  turnpike,  and  out  to  the  little  strip  of 
pine  and  oak  trees  where  grew,  in  Polly's 
estimation,  the  most  brilliant  and  waxy- 
leaved  partridge  berries. 

The  woods  proved  to  be  a  treasure  house ; 
not  only  did  they  find  the  partridge  berries, 
but  here  and  there  some  especially  brilliant 
spray  of  gorgeous  oak  leaves  that  must  be 
gathered  and  piled  into  the  carriage  to  be 
taken  home.  So  long,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Jame- 
son's warning,  did  they  linger  that  it  was  far 
into  the  afternoon  before  they  reached  the 


"THAT  BABT  IS  ME!"       291 

wide  steps  that  led  up  to  Mr.  Morris's  front 
door. 

"  We  will  just  ask  to  see  the  nurse  for  a 
minute,"  Polly  explained  in  a  low  voice,  as 
she  lifted  the  heavy  brass  knocker  and  let  it 
fall. 

There  was  silence.  "  Perhaps  you  had 
better  knock  again, — you  did  it  so  very 
gently,"  Margery  was  suggesting,  when  the 
door  was  partly  opened  by  a  rosy-cheeked, 
red-haired  Irish  lass  who  stood  barring  the 
way. 

"  Good-afternoon, — may  I  see  the  nurse, 
please  ?  " 

"  Sure.     Yes'm,  I  mean." 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  her  that  Miss  Jameson 
would  like  to  speak  to  her.  I'll  only  keep 
her  a  few  minutes." 

"  Sure.  Yes'm,  I  mean.  Come  in.  Oh, 
begorry  !  I  forgot !  "  The  maid  dived  into 
the  shadowy  depths  of  the  hall,  to  return  with 
a  silver  plate,  which  she  thrust  under  Polly's 
nose.  "  Put  yer  tacket  there,"  she  com- 
manded. 

"  Tacket  ?  "     Polly  was  puzzled. 

"  Yes,  yer  tacket." 


292          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  tacket?  I 
don't  understand." 

"  A  tacket  ?  Why,  they  takes  them  up  on 
the  railway  cars." 

"Oh!  A  ticket!  Why,  I  haven't  any 
ticket." 

"  Well,  thin, — yez  can't  come  in." 

The  girls  stared  at  her  in  bewilderment. 
They  had  had  but  little  experience  in  calling 
at  houses  where  there  was  illness,  and  won- 
dered if  it  was  customary  to  admit  only  those 
who  had  tickets. 

"  Well "  began  Polly,  doubtfully. 

"  What  do  the  ladies  wish  ?  "  asked  a  voice 
within  the  hall,  and  another  maid  in  neat 
cap  and  apron  appeared  at  the  door. 

Polly  explained,  and  the  maid  reproved  the 
first  with  a  sharp  dig  of  her  elbow.  "  Let  the 
young  ladies  in,"  she  whispered,  "  ye  dumb 
thing,  yez.  If  yez  ladies  will  step  in,"  she 
added  to  Polly  and  Margery,  "  very  soft-like, 
I'll  git  the  nurse  for  yez.  That  girl's  so  new 
and  green,  and  so  dumb,"  she  explained  as 
she  ushered  the  visitors  across  a  wide,  stately 
hall,  "  that  ye  nivir  know  what  she'll  do  next. 
I've  been  trying  to  teach  her  about  taking 


"THAT  BABT  IS  ME/"       293 

folks'  cards  on  a  tray  when  they  come  to  call, 
— but  she  is  so  green  she  keeps  callin'  the 
cards  '  tackets,'  and  I  doubt  if  she  ivir  learns." 

Hysterical  with  giggles,  which  the  solemn 
atmosphere  of  the  place  rather  augmented 
than  subdued,  Polly  and  Margery  tiptoed 
across  the  slippery  floor,  and  were  shown  into 
the  library  which  occupied  the  whole  ground 
floor  of  the  left  wing  of  the  house. 

"  If  yez  young  ladies  will  just  wait  here,  I'll 
send  Miss  Tucker,  that's  the  day  nurse,  to  yez 
as  soon  as  I  can.  The  doctor  is  here  now,  and 
yez  may  have  a  bit  of  a  wait,"  and  switching 
on  the  lights,  the  maid  went  out  and  closed 
the  door  after  her. 

Polly  flung  herself  on  a  divan,  and  buried 
her  head  in  a  sofa  pillow.  "Oh,  my  dear," 
she  laughed,  "  I  shall  never  forget  your  face  as 
long  as  I  live.  '  Put  yer  tacket  there.'  Oh, 
Margery,  we  must  stop  snickering, — it  would 
be  awful  if  the  nurse  came  in  and  found  us 
carrying  on  like  this !  I'm  going  to  give  you 
a  package  of  '  tackets  '  for  a  Christmas  present. 
Margery,  you  must  stop  laughing,"  and  Polly 
sat  up  very  straight  and  tried  to  look  grim. 

But  Margery,  doubled  up  in  a  big  chair  that 


294          MARGERT  MORRIS 

threatened  to  engulf  her,  could  not  subdue 
the  giggles  with  which  she  was  afflicted.  "  I 
can't — stop,"  she  gasped.  "  It  wouldn't  be  so 
funny — if  everything  wasn't  so  still  and 
solemn  !  Oh,  do  go  away, — and  don't — talk 
to  me — or  I  shall  die  !  " 

"  All  right ;  but  you  must  behave,"  Polly 
scolded,  then  giggled  weakly,  herself.  "  I'll 
look  around  the  room.  It's  beautiful,  isn't 
it?" 

It  was  a  beautiful  room,  one  that  showed  it 
belonged  to  a  man  of  taste,  as  well  as  a  scholar 
and  a  traveler.  Low  bookcases  of  some  rich 
dark  wood,  filled  with  well-used  books,  were 
built  in  everywhere  one  could  possibly  be 
fitted,  and  on  their  tops  stood  rare  pottery 
and  brasses  brought  from  all  over  the  world. 
At  each  end  of  the  long  room  were  great  fire- 
places, and  before  them,  drawn  up  cozily, 
were  divans  and  easy  chairs  that  invited 
one  to  stay  forever.  Long  windows  on  three 
sides  of  the  room  opened  out  on  a  brick  ter- 
race, and  gave  vistas  of  the  old-fashioned,  box- 
bordered  garden,  and  beyond  the  garden,  the 
woods  and  meadows,  and  the  winding  creek. 

The  books  drew  Polly  like  a  bee  to  clover. 


"THAT  BABT  IS  ME!''       295 

"  Look,  Margery,"  she  demanded  in  a  shrill 
whisper,  "  look  at  this  lovely  set  of  Dickens, 
— and  look,  here  are  all  of  Stevenson's.  In 
a  perfectly  scrumptious  edition,  too.  Don't 
you  adore  Stevenson  ?  Which  one  of  his 
characters  is  your  favorite  ? "  Polly  didn't 
wait  for  an  answer,  which  was  just  as  well, 
as  Margery  would  have  been  unable,  to  give 
one.  "  Mine's  Alan  Breck.  I'm  crazy  about 
the  way  he  says  '  I'm  no  so  verra  bonnie,  but 
I'm  leal  to  them  I  lo'e.'  I  wanted  to  take 
that  for  my  motto,  and  have  it  stamped 
under  my  monogram  on  my  correspondence 
paper,  but  Mother  said  '  Nay.'  That's  the 
way  she  always  does  put  a  quietus  on  all  my 
brilliant  schemes.  Tragic,  isn't  it  ?  Oh,  look 
at  this  wonderful  carved  frame  I  Father  says 
Mr.  Morris  is  a  great  something  or  other, 
— oh,  yes,  a  great  connoisseur." 

Margery  looked  about  her  with  satisfaction. 
She  liked  the  rich,  soft  rugs  and  the  great, 
easy  chairs  ;  the  pots  of  gay  chrysanthemums 
brightening  the  dark  corners.  Her  luxury- 
loving  soul  felt  more  at  home  here  than  at 
the  farm,  with  its  old-fashioned,  almost  aus- 
tere simplicity. 


296          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  Margery,"  Polly  called  softly,  "  do  come 
here." 

Rising,  Margery  tiptoed  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  where  Polly  stood  beside  a  small 
table. 

"Just  look  at  these  photographs,"  Polly 
commanded.  "  Isn't  that  woman  the  prettiest 
thing?"  pointing  to  a  small  framed  photo- 
graph standing  on  the  table.  "  That's  exactly 
the  way  you  will  look  when  you  grow  up. 
That  is,  if  you're  a  good  little  girl,  and  always 
eat  up  all  the  crusts  of  your  bread,  and  fold 
your  clothes  up  neatly  every  night,  and  don't 
1  sass '  your  dear  friend  Polly,  and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth.  This  must  be  Mr.  Morris's 
son  ;  it  looks  so  much  like  him.  And  did 
you  ever  see  such  a  funny  fat  baby  ?  Why, — 
what's  the  matter?  " 

Wide-eyed,  Margery  was  staring  at  the  pho- 
tographs. "  Polly,"  she  gasped,  "  that's  Papa 
and  Mamma, — and  that  baby  is  me  /  " 

"  Good  lackaday  ! "  cried  Polly,  and  col- 
lapsed into  the  nearest  chair. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  WHOO  ?   WHOO  ?  " 

"  HUSH,  there's  somebody  1 "  There  were 
footsteps  and  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall 
outside,  and  Margery  listened  anxiously. 
She  did  not  feel  like  seeing  anybody  just 
then.  The  footsteps  stopped  outside  the  li- 
brary door,  and  a  low,  murmured  conversa- 
tion followed.  The  voices  died  away,  and 
Margery  turned  back  to  the  photographs. 

"  Polly,  there's  something  queer,"  she  qua- 
vered. 

"  But  are  you  sure  they  are  photographs 
of  your  father  and  mother?" 

"  Of  course  I  know  they  are  Papa  and 
Mamma.  Besides, — oh,  Polly,  just  look  at 
this  I "  and  Margery  thrust  a  small  kodak 
picture  she  had  taken  from  the  mantelpiece 
into  Polly's  hand.  It  was  a  snap  shot  of  a 
young  girl,  her  face  so  deeply  shaded  by  a 
wide  hat  that  the  features  were  a  blur. 

297 


298          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  That's  me ! "  she  exclaimed  more  vehe- 
mently than  grammatically. 

Polly  looked  rather  dubious,  and  Margery 
impatiently  turned  the  picture  over.  On  the 
back  was  written  in  Margery's  thick  and 
schoolgirlish  hand  : 

"  Dear  Grandpapa  : — I  am  sending  this  in- 
stead of  a  letter, — will  write  when  I  can  find 
time.  I  am  having  a  perfect  time.  Love, 
Margery." 

"  Oh,"  said  Polly  blankly. 

"  That  explains  everything." 

"  Everything  ?  " 

"  Dick.  And  not  knowing  about  him. 
And  everything  being  different  from  what  I 
expected.  Oh,  everything  that  puzzled  me." 

Practical,  quick-minded  Polly  considered 
the  question.  "  Do  you  mean,  Margery,  that 
you  think  your  grandfather  isn't  your  grand- 
father, and  that  Mr.  Morris  is  ?  " 

"  Yes, — I  don't  belong  at  the  farm  at  all." 

"  But,  Margery,  I  should  have  thought  that 
you  would  have  had  sense  enough  to  know 
when  you  first  got  to  the  farm  that  you  didn't 
belong  there  !  It  seems  awfully  queer  I  " 

Margery  hung   her  head  and  twisted  her 


"WHOO?  WHOQ2"  299 

ring  nervously  around  her  finger.  "  Well, 
you  see,  Polly,"  she  explained,  "  I  suppose 
the  real  reason  why  I  was  so  awfully  stupid 
was  that  for  years  and  years  Papa  and  Mamma 
have  talked  and  talked  about  Grandpapa  and 
Renwyck's  Town,  and  made  plans  and  made 
plans  to  come  on  (and  then  something  hap- 
pening, like  business  or  Papa's  having  ap- 
pendicitis, to  prevent  it) — so  that  I  just  got 
dead  tired  and  sick  of  the  very  sound  of 
Renwyck's  Town.  And  I  never  listened  to 
anything  they  said  about  Grandpapa's  place 
if  I  could  help  it,  so  that  really  /didn't  know 
what  kind  of  a  place  to  expect.  It  seemed 
all  right  on  the  surface, — both  places  are  in 
Renwyck's  Town,  and  belong  to  Mr.  Henry 
Morrises.  I  bet  you'd  have  done  the  same 
thing." 

Polly  ignored  the  last  part  of  Margery's 
speech,  merely  remarking  sympathetically, 
"  I  know  how  you  felt  about  Renwyck's 
Town.  Katie  Van  Loon's  father  comes  from 
Holland,  and  Katie  says  she  is  so  tired  of 
hearing  about  what  a  wonderful  place  Hol- 
land is,  and  what  models  the  girls  there  are, 
that  she  wishes  all  the  dykes  would  burst 


3oo          MARGERT  MORRIS 

and  the  whole  of  Holland  would  disappear 
under  the  sea,  and  that  nobody  would  ever 
have  to  hear  of  it  again." 

"  And  then  Mamma  was  so  awfully  opti- 
mistic about  how  I  was  going  to  love  it  at 
Renwyck's  Town, — when  I  knew  that  I 
shouldn't, — that  it  was  rather  satisfactory  to 
have  everything  at  the  farm  plain,  and  lonely, 
and  Grandpapa  away.  Mamma's  so  awfully 
cheerful  that  it  makes  you  go  the  other  way 
sometimes." 

Polly  dug  down  among  her  fund  of  literary 
references.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  sagely,  "  some- 
body said  that  a  '  pessimist  is  a  person  who 
lives  with  an  optimist.' ' 

Both  girls  giggled. 

"  You  mustn't  think,  Polly,  that  Mamma 
isn't  nice.  She's  lovely.  Lots  prettier  than 
this  picture,  and  awfully  young-looking  and 
girlish.  I  guess  I'm  just  an  old  grouch,"  and 
Margery  regarded  the  photograph  of  her  irre- 
pressibly  enthusiastic  parent  with  tear-dimmed 
eyes.  "  And  I  suppose,  too,  that  part  of  the 
trouble  was,"  and  Margery  held  up  her  head 
and  faced  the  truth  bravely,  "  that  I  was  so 
blue  and  cross  over  not  being  allowed  to  stay 


"WHOO?  WHOO?"  301 

with  Marie  Smythe  that  I  was  just  anxious  to 
have  everything  horrid, — so — well,  so  that  I 
could  say  '  I  told  you  so.' ' 

Polly  grinned.  "  It  is  nice  to  be  a  martyr 
sometimes,  isn't  it?  Just  the  way  Missouri, 
that's  our  old  colored  cook,  is  so  tickled  if 
she  can  only  get  a  '  misery  '  in  her  *  haid ' 
after  we've  had  extra  company." 

"  What  puzzles  me,"  remarked  Margery, 
paying  no  attention  to  this  flattering  resem- 
blance, "  is  how  they  got  my  telegram  to 
Grandpapa  out  at  the  farm." 

"  That  doesn't  mean  anything  one  way  or 
the  other.  Both  your  grandfathers, — oh,  dear, 
this  is  the  most  mixed-up  thing, — both  Mr. 
Morrises,  I  should  say,  are  named  Henry. 
And  it's  no  new  thing  in  Renwyck's  Town 
for  the  Morrises  to  get  their  mail  and  pack- 
ages mixed  up.  That's  the  worst  of  most  of 
the  population  of  a  town  having  the  same 
name.  Jim  Bancroft  sent  Sally  Morris  the 
silliest  love-letter,  and  old  Miss  Sarah  Morris 
got  it.  Miss  Sarah  thought  Jim  was  making 
fun  of  her,  and  there  was  an  awful  to-do  over 
it.  It  was  awfully  mortifying  for  Jim  and 
Sally.  Then  that  girl  at  the  telegraph  office 


302          MARGERY  MORRIS 

is  going  to  be  married  next  month,  and  she  is 
so  taken  up  with  the  monograms  she  is  em- 
broidering on  her  table-cloths  that  she  doesn't 
know  whether  she  is  going  or  coming.  The 
telegram  doesn't  mean  anything,  but  what 
does  puzzle  me  is :  if  you  were  due  here  why 
haven't  they  been  out  searching  the  country 
for  you  ?  What  was  it  you  said  about  coming 
earlier  than  you  expected  ?  " 

As  briefly  as  she  could  Margery  rehearsed 
the  story  of  her  unexpectedly  early  trip  to 
Renwyck's  Town  and  the  reasons  for  it.  "  Oh," 
Polly  nodded.  "  Yes,  I  think  I  see.  Won't 
they  be  thrilled  here  when  you  tell  them  !  I 

know  I'll Here  comes  somebody, — I 

think  it's  the  nurse." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  young  woman  in  a 
stiffly  starched  nurse's  uniform  rustled  in. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me?  "  she  inquired  in  a 
manner  as  stiffly  starched  as  her  apron.  "  I 
am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  but  just  as 
the  doctor  came  down-stairs  and  was  leaving 
he  remembered  something  that  he  wanted  to 
tell  me.  What  is  it  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

With  proper  humbleness,  Polly  produced 
the  elderberry  wine  and  stated  her  errand. 


"WHOO?  WHOO?"  303 

"  Oh,  thank  you, — you  can  tell  your  mother 
that  Mr.  Morris  is  better.  All  that  he  needs 
now  is  absolute  quiet  and  careful  nursing." 

Polly  looked  at  Margery,  gave  an  embar- 
rassed little  laugh,  then  plunged  in.  "  Does 
his  family  know  of  his  illness  ?  " 

"  No.  We  sent  for  his  son  the  week  before 
last,  but  they  telegraphed  back  from  his  office 
that  young  Mr.  Morris  had  left  for  Japan  a 
few  days  before.  Mr.  Morris  was  out  of  dan- 
ger, anyway,  before  his  son  could  have  reached 
here." 

Margery  and  Polly  exchanged  another 
glance.  Polly  took  a  long  breath,  and  an- 
nounced, "  This  is  Miss  Margaret  Morris, — Mr. 
Morris's  granddaughter." 

The  nurse  looked  puzzled.  "  Oh,  I  hadn't 
known  that  any  of  his  family  were  here,"  she 
said,  but  her  profession  had  given  her  too 
many  glimpses  of  family  unhappinesses  to  al- 
low her  to  make  any  further  comment. 

"  Margery  was  to  have  stayed  here,  but 
through  some  mistake  she  got  into  the  wrong 
house — er — that  is — well,  anyway,"  Polly 
stumbled  on,  "  we  think  she  did." 

The  nurse  raised  her  pretty  eyebrows  toward 


304          MARGERY  MORRIS 

the  border  of  her  stiff  white  cap.  "  I'm  afraid 
I  don't  quite  understand." 

Margery  joined  in  the  conversation  for  the 
first  time.  "  There  is  really  nothing  to  un- 
derstand," she  said  authoritatively.  "  I  came 
to  Renwyck's  Town  unexpectedly.  They  met 
me  from  another  Mr.  Henry  Morris's  and  I 
thought  that  I  belonged  there  until  I  came 
here  to-day,  and  I  saw  these  pictures, — these 
are  my  father  and  mother, — and  these  two  are 
me." 

The  nurse  took  the  photographs,  and  looked 
from  the  fat  baby  to  Margery,  then  back  again 
to  the  pictured  young  lady  with  the  big  hat 
and  the  blurred  face.  "  They  don't  look  much 
like  you,"  she  remarked  with  a  faint  smile. 

Again  Polly  and  Margery  exchanged 
glances  ;  things  did  not  seem  to  be  going  very 
well.  "Wasn't  Miss  Morris  expected  here ?" 
asked  Polly,  surprised. 

"  Of  course  I  was,  Polly,"  Margery  put  in. 
"  Papa  wrote  that  I  was  coming  and  they  are 
expecting  me." 

The  nurse  glanced  from  Polly's  puzzled  face 
to  Margery's  evidently  annoyed  one,  and  her 
manner  grew  less  detached.  "  I  think  if  you 


"WHOO?  WHOOr  305 

will  repeat  what  you  have  just  told  me  that  I 
may  be  able  to  understand  better, — you  see, 
nobody  has  mentioned  your  coming  to  me." 

"  Tell  her  all  about  the  way  you  happened 
to  come  on  early,"  suggested  Polly. 

Again  Margery  rehearsed  the  story  of  her 
trip,  bravely  including  Marie  Smythe,  and  her 
own  sulkiness  and  glory  in  martyrdom.  As 
she  finished  the  nurse  stood  up.  "  If  you  will 
excuse  me,  I'll  take  a  look  at  my  patient. 
And  then  I'll  speak  to  Kiley,  the  cook, — she 
seems  to  know  all  the  household  affairs. 
Nothing  has  been  said  to  me  since  I've  been 
here  about  Mr.  Morris's  expecting  a  grand- 
daughter to  visit  him, — but  I've  been  on  the 
case  only  a  week.  Miss  Betz,  who  is  the  night 
nurse  now,  had  the  case  altogether  at  first. 
She  is  taking  her  rest  now,  and  I  can't  dis- 
turb her  to  ask  her  questions,  but  I'll  speak  to 
old  Kiley." 

Left  alone,  the  girls  again  found  relief  to 
their  emotions  in  a  fit  of  the  giggles.  "  Cheer 
up,"  comforted  Polly  with  a  snicker ;  "  the 
worst  is  yet  to  come." 

"  Of  course  Kiley  will  know  that  I'm  ex- 
pected here,"  answered  Margery  confidently. 


306          MARGERT  MORRIS 

11  But  I've  such  a  funny  Alice-in- Wonderland 
sort  of  feeling !  " 

"  '  He  sent  them  word  I  had  not  gone 
We  know  it  to  be  true  : 
If  she  should  push  the  matter  on, 
What  would  become  of  you  ? ' " 

quoted  Polly  from  her  favorite  "  Alice." 
"  Are  you  sure  that  Kiley  will  know  you're 
expected  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

A  voice  grew  near  the  library  door,  a  loud 
Irish  voice  that  was  being  vainly  urged  to 
"  Ssh  !  Ssh  I  "  by  the  nurse.  "  Don't  ye  be 
afther  believin'  a  worrd  of  it,  Miss  Tucker, 
darlint.  It's  some  mischief  of  that  Polly 
Jameson's, — a  greater  rascal  than  her  nivir 
walked.  Don't  ye  be  lettin'  her  make  a  fool 
of  ye  now  !  " 

"  Ssh,  ssh.  Here,  girls, — this  is  Kiley.  She 
will  be  able  to  tell  you  something  about  Mr. 
Morris's  granddaughter." 

A  little,  bent  old  Irish  woman  with  snap- 
ping black  eyes  stood  in  the  doorway,  sniffing 
contemptuously.  "  Is  it  yez  that  would  be 
passin'  yersilf  off  as  Mr.  Morris's  grand- 
daughter ?  "  she  demanded  of  Polly  ^ 


"WHOO?  WHOO?"  307 

"  No,  /  am  Mr.  Morris's  granddaughter," 
answered  Margery. 

The  old  woman  turned  on  her.  "  Sure, 
an'  Mr.  Morris's  granddaughter  isn't  expected 
until  January  !  An'  it's  not  this  way  she'll 
be  comin' — in  the  back-door  like, — but  with 
her  maid,  an'  at  the  proper  time,  like  an 
iligint  young  lady  should.  An'  it's  not  like 
yez  she'll  be  lookin',"  with  a  scornful  glance 
at  Margery's  tweed  sports  coat,  dusty  and 
well  covered  with  burrs  and  bits  of  dried 
"leaves  from  the  woods,  and  at  the  simple 
cloth  tam-o'-shanter  pulled  down  over  her 
disheveled  hair.  "  Miss  Morris  is  a  pretty 
young  lady, — there's  a  picture  of  her  in  Mr. 
Morris's  bedroom,  taken  in  an  iligint  white 
dress,  that  thick  with  lace  !  Think  shame  of 
yersilf  fer  wantin'  to  deceive  a  poor,  sick 
gintleman,  and  passin'  yersilf  off  as  his  grand- 
daughter. Oh,  I  tell  ye,  Miss  Tucker,"  turn- 
ing to  the  nurse  with  flashing  eyes,  "the  rich 
has  their  troubles  the  same  as  the  poor.  The 
way  people  try  to  take  advantage  of  Mr. 
Morris  because  he  is  rich, — an'  a  kinder  man 
nivir  walked, — is  enough  to  make  ye  sick  !  " 

Margery  sat  stunned  by  this  tirade.     "  You 


308          MARGERT  MORRIS 

impertinent   old   woman,"  she  cried  at  last, 
"  how  dare  you  speak  to  me  like  this  ?  " 

"  How  '  dare  '  I,  ye  sez  ?  How  '  dare '  I  ? 
Sure,  if  Mr.  Morris  was  well  ye  wouldn't  be 
'  darin' '  ter  talk  ter  me  like  that !  '  Imperti- 
nent old  woman  ! '  Indade  !  I  bid  yez  good- 
afternoon,  young  ladies  !  Young  ladies  f  An' 
you,  Miss  Polly  Jameson,  think  shame  on 
yersilf  fer  the  socoiety  yer  in." 

The  indignant  old  woman  flounced  out  of 
the  room,  and  Polly  and  Miss  Tucker  began 
to  laugh. 

Margery  burst  into  tears.  "  I  think  you're 
c-cruel  to  laugh.  You  wouldn't  laugh, — if 
your  father  and  mother  w-were  on  the  way  to 
Japan, — and  your  grandfathers  were  away  or 
sick, — you  didn't  know  which, — and  you 
didn't  know  where  you  be-be-be-longed ! " 
Her  voice  breaking  into  a  mournful  howl, 
she  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair  arid 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  Margery,  I'm  sorry, — I'm  awfully 
sorry  !  But  cheer  up !  It  will  be  all  right — 
indeed  it  will — perhaps  you  belong  at  the 
farm,  after  all.  Perhaps  Mr.  Morris  just  hap- 
pened to  have  your  pictures.  Perhaps  your 


"WHOO?  WHOO?"  309 

grandfather  just  happened  to  bring  the  pic- 
tures over  here.  '  See  what  a  fine  family  I 
have,'  he  would  say,  '  and  that  blessed  little 
girl  is  coming  to  visit  me  this  winter.'  And 
then  he'd  get  so  interested  talking  horses  with 
Mr.  Morris  that  he'd  go  off  and  forget  the 
pictures.  That's  the  sort  of  thing  Father  is 
always  doing." 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  belong, — I  wish  I 
were  dead  I  I  knew  something  like  this  would 
happen  if  I  had  to  come  to  old  Renwyck's 
Town!" 

The  nurse's  sympathy  took  a  practical  form. 
She  hurried  out  of  the  room  to  procure  a  bottle 
of  aromatic  spirits  of  ammonia,  and  a  small 
glass  of  ice-water.  "  Here,  child,  don't  go  on 
like  that,"  she  commanded,  as  she  poured 
some  of  the  ammonia  into  the  water.  "Sit 
up,  now,  and  drink  this.  This  will  make  you 
feel  better.  That's  right,"  as  Margery  choked 
down  the  soapy  mixture ;  "  drink  it  all, — 
never  mind  if  you  don't  like  the  taste.  Now, 
I'm  going  to  wash  off  the  tear-stains  with 
this,"  and  she  saturated  a  handkerchief  with 
lavender  water.  "  There,  doesn't  that  feel 
cooling  ?  Now,  I'm  going  to  send  you  off, — 


310          MARGERT  MORRIS 

I  can't  have  all  this  excitement  in  the  house. 
My  patient  may  feel  it  in  some  way  or  other, 
— it's  wonderful  how  sick  people  seem  to  sense 
anything  that's  out  of  the  way.  But  I  think 
that  you  had  better  go  right  to  Dr.  Huston 
with  the  matter.  If  there  has  been  any  mis- 
take he  will  be  able  to  unravel  the  trouble. 
I  cannot  take  any  responsibility,  of  course. 
And  Mr.  Morris  is  too  weak  to  be  asked  any 
questions  as  yet.  But  there  is  a  pile  of  letters 
on  the  table  in  his  dressing-room  which 
haven't  been  opened, — I  believe  they  came 
just  about  the  time  he  was  taken  ill.  They 
may  have  some  bearing  on  the  matter, — at 
any  rate,  I  think  the  doctor  will  know  what 
to  do.  Now,  please  go  out  quietly." 

"Gracious,  isn't  it  dark?"  Polly  cried,  as 
she  unhitched  Spy  and  climbed  into  the  cart 
after  Margery.  "  We  will  have  to  hurry  back 
as  fast  as  we  can, — Mother  worries  so  about 
me  when  I  am  out  after  dark ;  especially  if 
she  knows  I  have  gone  out  into  the  country. 
I'll  go  to  the  doctor's  with  you  though, — but 
we  will  have  to  stop  at  home  for  a  minute 
while  I  explain.  It's  too  bad  the  doctor  left 
there  before  we  saw  Miss  Tucker,  wasn't  it? 


"WHOO?  WHOOV*  311 

I  didn't  see  his  carriage,  did  you  ?  He  must 
have  gone  in  by  the  side  drive,  and  hitched 
his  horse  by  the  side-door.  I  guess  that  it 
was  his  voice  we  heard." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Margery  listlessly, 
choking  back  a  sob.  "  I'm  afraid  that  Deb- 
orah will  be  worried,  Polly.  May  I  telephone 
her  from  your  house  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  new 
thoughtfulness. 

"  Yes,  I'll  'phone  her  that  you  will  be  a 
little  late.  Hurry,  Spy  I  There's  a  bag  of 
oats,  and  a  warm  stable  waiting  for  you." 

It  was  getting  toward  six  o'clock,  and  the 
cloudy  autumnal  evening  was  dark  and  chilly. 
Shivering  with  cold  and  nervousness,  Margery 
turned  up  her  coat  collar,  and  plunged  her 
hands  deep  into  her  pockets.  The  tall  bushes 
along  the  roadside,  ghostly  in  the  twilight, 
seemed  to  point  mocking  fingers  at  her,  as  if 
to  say,  "  Who  are  you  ?  And  where  do  you 
belong?  Nobody  wants  you  !  " 

Her  head  ached  from  crying ;  she  was 
tired  and  hungry  ;  above  all,  she  felt  miserably 
alone  and  forsaken.  Suppose  that  they  should 
decide  at  the  farm  that  she  did  not  belong 
there, — she  remembered,  now,  how  bewildered 


312          MARGERT  MORRIS 

Dick  had  been  over  her  arrival.  And  sup- 
pose, on  the  other  hand,  that  they  would  not 
acknowledge  her  at  the  house  she  had  just 
left, — what  should  she  do  ?  She  seemed  to  be 
in  some  ghastly  nightmare,  wherein  she  wan- 
dered from  door  to  door,  vainly  asking,  "Who 
ami?  Who  am  I?" 

As  though  in  answer  to  her  thoughts  an 
owl,  hidden  in  the  strip  of  woodland  they 
were  passing,  dark  and  gloomy  now  in  the 
dusk,  hooted,  "  Whoo  ?  Whoo  ?  " 

Margery  clutched  Polly  in  terror. 

Polly  laughed.  "  Cheer  up,  Margie, — it's 
only  an  owl.  We'll  be  out  of  these  old  woods 
in  a  minute, — there !  See  the  lights  in  the 
clock-tower  in  the  town  hall.  I've  been 
thinking,  Margery, — that's  the  reason  I  was 
so  miraculously  silent.  It's  going  to  be  all 
right  about  you, — either  you  belong  at  the 
farm,  or  you  don't,  and  it's  going  to  be  all 
right  either  way.  What  that  nurse  and  old 
Kiley  said  doesn't  count.  They  don't  know 
anything  about  it,  anyway.  But  a  mystery 
is  a  bother,  so  we'll  stop  at  the  doctor's  and 
see  if  he  knows  anything.  I  hope  he's  back 
by  this  time.  It  certainly  is  funny  that  you 


"WHOO?  WHO®?"  313 

didn't  see  any  of  your  photographs  at  the 
farm,  and  they  seemed  so  vague  about  you. 
You  dear  little  goose,  not  to  smell  a  mouse 
long  before  this.  But  buck  up !  Be  a  man. 
It  will  come  out  all  right,  anyway.  And," 
Polly  hesitated ;  she  had  all  the  horror  which 
healthy-minded  young  people  feel  at  appear- 
ing to  preach,  "and,"  she  went  on,  rather 
haltingly,  "  remember : 

"  *  Two  things  stand  like  stone : 

Kindness  in  your  neighbor's  trouble, 
And  courage  in  your  own.1  " 

Margery  was  thoughtfully  silent.  "  I  sup- 
pose," she  said  at  last,  "  that  it  would  be 
easier  if  I  had  had  some  little  troubles  to 
practice  on.  I  wish  I  had  been  braver  about 
the  Marie  Smythe  one." 

"  If  you  hadn't  wilted  so  over  the  little 
one,"  Polly  remarked  sagely,  "  you  probably 
would  never  have  had  this  big  trouble,  for 
you  would  have  been  keener,  and  kept  your 
wits  about  you,  and  so  you  would  have  known 
right  away  whether  or  not  you  had  landed  in 
the  right  spot.  So  take  this  trouble  like  a 
good  sport,  so  that  you  won't  get  into  any 
worse  one.  Here  we  are  at  the  house, — -just 


314          MARGERT  MORRIS 

hold  the  reins  while  I  run  in  and  tell  Mother 
that  I'm  going  to  the  doctor's." 

The  Jamesons  lived  in  an  old-fashioned 
house  that  appeared  to  be  rather  below  than 
above  the  level  of  the  pavement.  Seen  from 
the  street  it  looked  small  and  cramped,  but 
once  inside  its  narrow  front  door,  the  visitor 
was  amazed  at  the  size  and  number  of  the 
rooms  that  seemed  to  stretch  endlessly  back 
to  the  large  box-bordered  garden  in  the  rear. 
This  evening  the  shades  had  been  left  up,  and 
from  the  carriage  Margery  could  see  into  the 
charming  living-room,  homelike  with  books 
and  flowers  and  open  fire.  She  could  see 
Polly  rush  into  the  arms  of  plump,  motherly 
Mrs.  Jameson. 

Sitting  there  outside,  cold,  and  tired,  and 
homesick,  Margery  realized,  as  she  had  never 
done  before  in  all  her  pampered,  shielded 
little  life,  what  home,  and  father  and  mother 
love,  are ;  how  tenderly  they  love  and  com- 
fort, how  unselfishly  they  protect. 

A  great  tear  rolled  down  beside  her  nose ; 
a  blessed  tear,  that  washed  away  much  ingrat- 
itude and  selfishness. 

The   Jamesons'   front  door  closed  with  a 


"WHOO?  WHOO?"  315 

bang  that  must  have  rocked  the  very  roof, 
and  Polly  came  flying  across  the  pavement. 
"  Hurrah,"  she  cried,  as  Margery  handed  her 
the  reins ;  "  now  for  the  doctor's.  I  didn't 
have  time  to  explain,  and  poor  Mother  thinks 
I  have  surely  gone  crazy  this  time, — she's 
always  expecting  it  to  come  some  day.  I 
'phoned  to  Deborah  that  you  would  be  a  little 
late,  but  that  we  would  see  that  you  got 
home  all  right, — William  can  take  you  out 
in  the  car.  Oh,  Margie,  this  reminds  me  of 
your  old  Scotchman,  '  Ah,  what  a  day  this 
nicht ! '  Here's  the  doctor's  house.  Now,  be 
a  good  little  girl,  and  say  the  pretty  verse 
kind  Polly  taught  you.  Come  on.  Pipe  up." 

"  'Two  things  stand  like  stone : 

Kindness  in  your  neighbor's  trouble, 
Courage  in  your  own,'  " 

they  chanted  in  chorus,  and  then  because 
they  were  young  and  healthy,  and  life  so 
far  had  dealt  gently  with  them,  they  rang 
the  doctor's  front  door-bell,  as  hilarious  a 
pair  as  though  there  were  no  such  things  as 
perplexities  or  grandfathers. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MARGERY  AND  POLLY  DINE  WITH  THE  DOCTOR 

"  WELL,  Polly,  what  is  it  now  ?  Another 
boil  on  your  nose,  or  has  that  tongue  of  yours 
gotten  you  into  a  scrape  at  school,  and  you 
want  me  to  cut  off  a  piece  of  it?  Nothing 
wrong  at  the  farm,  is  there,  Margery  ?  No  ? 
That's  good  I  I'm  glad  to  see  Miss  Deborah 
so  much  better.  Sit  down,  girls,  and  tell  the 
old  doctor  about  it." 

The  doctor  took  off  his  spectacles,  and 
beamed  at  the  girls  as  cordially  as  though 
they  were  not  interrupting  his  precious  hour 
before  dinner,  the  one  time  of  the  day  he 
could  claim  for  himself,  and  the  thought  of 
which  had  been  his  solace  through  a  long  and 
particularly  busy  day. 

Polly  and  Margery  sat  down,  and  glanced 
about  the  shabby,  cozy  back  office  as  though 
they  were  seeking  inspiration  in  the  framed 

316 


MARGERT  AND  POLLY  DINE    317 

diploma  from  a  medical  school  hanging  over 
the  doctor's  desk,  or  in  the  china  vase  in  the 
shape  of  a  grinning  skull,  the  gift  of  some 
grateful  patient,  which  stood  on  the  mantel- 
piece. The  doctor  watched  them  with  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Well,  Polly,"  he  prompted  at  length, 
"  what's  the  matter, — is  it  too  dreadful  to 
tell?" 

"  Doctor,"  Polly  fired  off  like  a  firecracker, 
"  is  Mr.  Morris  at  the  White  House  farm  ex- 
pecting a  granddaughter  to  visit  him  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Polly. 

"  Oh,"  wailed  Margery. 

"Wait  a  minute, — let  me  think.  Why, 
yes,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  he  said  some- 
thing to  me  about  his  son's  daughter  coming 
on  some  time  during  the  winter.  Yes,  now 
that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  do  remember ;  he 
was  expecting  the  girl  in  January.  I'd  for- 
gotten about  that.  When  I  telegraphed  for 
Henry  week  before  last,  they  sent  back  word 
from  his  office  that  he  and  his  wife  had  just 
left  for  Japan.  However,  they  may  not  have 
taken  the  girl  with  them." 


3i8          MARGERY  MORRIS 

11  Was  Mr.  Henry  Morris,  out  Williamsburg 
way,  expecting  a  granddaughter  to  visit  him?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  so, — seeing  that  Margery 
is  here.  Deborah  Davis  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  she  is  Henry  Morris's  grand- 
daughter. To  tell  the  truth,"  he  added 
rather  stiffly,  "  I  have  not  seen  much  of 
Henry  lately.  We — er — we  disagreed  on  the 
question  on  the  boundary  fence  of  my  sister 
Martha's  field.  That  grandson  of  his  is  a 
fine  fellow.  I  hope  that  Henry  doesn't  spoil 
him  by  pulling  the  reins  too  tight.  But  why 
do  you  ask  these  questions,  Miss  Sherlock 
Holmes?  Looking  for  lost  jewels ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  that  I'm  the  lost  jewel,"  put 
in  Margery. 

"Eh?" 

"  It's  this  way,  doctor,"  began  Polly.  She 
paused  and  raised  her  eyebrows  at  Margery, 
who  nodded  back.  Permission  gained,  Polly 
plunged  headlong  into  the  tale  of  Margery's 
adventures.  First,  she  began  at  the  end,  and 
told  the  story  of  old  Kiley  and  her  suspicions  ; 
then  she  skipped  to  the  beginning,  and  re- 
counted Margery's  arrival  at  Renwyck's 
Town,  and  Dick's  meeting  her;  after  that 


MARGERT  AND  POLLY  DINE    319 

she  made  a  few  side  excursions  up  the  by- 
paths of  Margery's  surprise  at  finding  Dick 
and  Benjamin  at  the  farm,  and  of  her  par- 
ents' hasty  departure  to  Japan ;  and  through 
it  all  she  dwelt  on  Margery's  yearning  to 
spend  the  winter  with  Marie  Smythe.  Far 
more,  indeed,  than  Margery  considered  need- 
ful. 

As  Polly  finished  her  breathless  recitation, 
Dr.  Huston  closed  the  book  in  which  he  had 
been  hopefully  keeping  his  finger  to  mark  the 
place,  and  threw  it  on  the  table.  "  Hhmmm," 
he  mused  aloud,  "  I  believe  that  perhaps  I'd 
understand  better  if  the  other  little  lady  were 
to  tell  the  story.  I  don't  imagine  I  got  that 
part  straight  about  old  Kiley, — as  far  as  I 
could  understand  from  Polly's  story,  Kiley 
said  that  she  was  Dick's  grandfather's  grand- 
father 1 " 

Margery  laughed  at  the  doctor's  little  joke, 
and  feeling  less  nervous,  told  her  part  of  the 
story  simply  and  quietly.  The  doctor  lis- 
tened intently,  evidently  much  interested,  al- 
though he  made  no  comments,  and  asked  no 
questions. 

"  First  of  all,"  he  remarked,  as  she  finished, 


320          MARGERT  MORRIS 

"  I  think  that  I  had  better  keep  you  girls  to 
dinner  with  me, — if  you  think  that  you  can 
stand  an  old  bachelor's  housekeeping.  It 
will  take  my  poor  old  brains  some  time  to 
get  this  Mary  Smith  business,  that  Polly  talks 
about,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  straightened  out. 
I'll  'phone  to  your  mother,  Polly."  He  pulled 
the  desk  'phone  toward  him.  "  And  I  had 
better  'phone  out  to  your  house,  Margery. 
We  mustn't  let  MisjS  Deborah  be  worried,  you 
know  !  Hello,  central, — 36  W.  Hello,  Mary 
Jameson  ?  This  is  Dr.  Huston  speaking. 
.  .  .  Well,  Mary,  I'm  going  to  keep 
your  girl  for  dinner.  .  .  .  What's  that  ? 
Speak  a  little  louder,  please.  Remember  I 
don't  hear  as  well  as  I  used  to.  ...  Oh, 
I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  have  to  shout. 
Oh,  no, — there's  nothing  wrong.  Merely 
something  I  want  Polly  to  do  for  me.  Bet- 
ter send  William  after  her  horse.  I'll  get  her 
home  myself  by  bedtime.  .  .  .  Hasn't 
done  her  lessons  yet?  The  rascal!  Well, 
good-bye." 

The  doctor  hung  up  the  receiver,  and 
turned  to  Polly  with  a  chuckle.  "  I  was  so 
strict  with  your  mother  when  she  was  ten 


MARGERT  AND  POLLY  DINE    321 

years  old,  and  I  brought  her  through  the  mea- 
sles, that  she  is  afraid  of  me  yet.  Suppose 
that  you  do  your  'phoning,  Margery,  while  I 
see  that  Lydia  counts  your  noses  in  when 
she  boils  the  potatoes,"  and  the  doctor  hur- 
ried off  to  attend  to  his  housekeeping. 

"What  do  you  think  he  thinks?"  Mar- 
gery asked  in  a  shrill  whisper. 

Polly  shook  her  head.     "  Can't  tell." 

Whatever  the  doctor  thought  he  did  not 
divulge  it  while  they  were  at  the  table,  but 
kept  up  a  constant  run  of  jokes  with  Polly. 
He  was  full,  too,  of  questions  about  Margery's 
life  at  home,  in  which  he  appeared  to  be 
much  interested.  Margery's  thoughts  had 
been  so  limited  to  herself,  and  the  doings 
and  sayings  of  her  own  particular  little  cir- 
cle,— and  of  late  to  Marie  Smythe — that  she 
was  not  usually  an  interesting,  much  less 
brilliant  conversationalist ;  but  to-night,  un- 
der the  doctor's  skilful  prompting,  she  man- 
aged to  shine. 

"  That's  awfully  interesting  !  I  wish  that 
I  could  talk  like  that,"  cried  generous  Polly, 
as  Margery  finished  a  description  of  the  old 
Spanish  mission  at  Santa  Barbara,  and  its 


322          MARGERT  MORRIS 

walled  garden,  forever  closed  to  the  foot  of 
woman. 

"Oh,  it's  a  wonderful  land,  California," 
sighed  the  doctor.  "  It's  been  thirty  years 
since  I  visited  there.  I'd  give  the  rest  of  my 
hair, — don't  you  laugh,  Polly  ;  there  are  balder 
men  than  I  am, — though  not  many,  I  admit, 
— if  I  could  go  back  there. 

"  Well,  well !  Now  I'll  have  to  leave  you 
girls  to  finish  your  pie  while  I  go  and  take  a 
look  at  the  patients  that  are  waiting  in  the 
office.  As  soon  as  they  go,  we  will  drive  out 
to  the  White  House  farm  and  take  a  look  at 
those  letters.  I  think  that  under  the  circum- 
stances that  is  what  Mr.  Morris  would  wish 
me  to  do.  I  can  explain  to  him  that  there 
are  some  important  matters  in  his  correspond- 
ence that  I  had  better  look  into,  and  ask  for 
his  permission  to  open  the  letters,  without 
having  to  go  into  particulars  and  exciting  him. 
We  have  to  be  very  careful  not  to  excite  him. 
But  I  think  that  I  can  manage  tactfully  ;  and 
that  would  straighten  matters  out  once  for 
all." 

The  door  closed  after  the  doctor. 

"Oh,  Polly,  isn't  it  awful?"  sighed  Mar- 


MARGERT  AND  POLLY  DINE    323 

gery,  as  she  finished  her  piece  of  pumpkin  pie. 
"  I  feel  the  most  awful  cloud  hanging  over 
me." 

Polly  thoughtfully  made  an  end  to  the  last 
crumb  of  her  second  piece  of  pie.  "  Yes,  of 
course  you  do,  you  poor  dear,"  she  said  sym- 
pathetically. "  I  don't  feel,  myself,  like  eat- 
ing, even,  or  doing  anything  but  thinking 
about  your  adventures.  It  really  is  terribly 
romantic,  though,  Margie, — if  you  just  stop 
to  think  about  it." 

Margery  mournfully  regarded  the  little 
bunch  of  red  and  yellow  button-chrysanthe- 
mums in  the  center  of  the  table.  "  I  suppose 
it  is,"  she  sighed. 

"  Are  you  ready,  girls  ?  "  The  doctor  stuck 
his  head  in  at  the  dining-room  door.  "  There 
weren't  many  patients,  fortunately,  to-night. 
I'll  have  to  stop,  though,  at  Gertrude  Brown's 
before  I  go  out  to  Mr.  Morris's.  There's  a 
case,  if  you  two  girls  want  to  do  a  little  good 
in  the  world,  where  you  could  help.  I  got 
her  some  work  to  do, — she  selects  mottoes  for 
calendars.  They  send  her  big  stacks  of  books 
from  the  library,  and  she  goes  over  them ; 
whenever  she  finds  a  beautiful  or  helpful 


324          M4RGERT  MORRIS 

thought,  she  writes  it  down,  with  the  author's 
name,  and  then  I  send  them  to  a  society  of 
charitable  ladies,  who  send  them  to  the  pub- 
lishers. Speaking  of  mottoes,  Margery,  there's 
a  little  verse  that  you  ought  to  learn,  '  Life  is 
mostly ' " 

Polly  nudged  Margery,  and  in  spite  of  her- 
sell  Margery  laughed. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  the  doctor. 

Polly  was  all  penitence.  "  Please  excuse 
me,  doctor  dear, — I  just  poked  Margery  be- 
cause I've  been  teaching  it  to  her  all  the  after- 
noon, and  by  this  time  she  could  probably 
stand  on  her  head  and  say  it  backward." 

"  She  couldn't  do  better,"  declared  the  doc- 
tor. "  It's  a  fine  philosophy, — not  very  deep, 
perhaps,  but  a  good  one  to  come  and  go  on. 
'  Two  things  stand  like  stone,' "  he  quoted 
softly.  "  '  Kindness  in  our  neighbor's  trouble, 
— courage  in  our  own.'  Trouble  is,"  he  finished 
with  a  chuckle,  "  most  of  us  get  it  twisted,  and 
have  the  courage  in  our  neighbor's  trouble, 
and  the  kindness  in  our  own.  Here's  poor 
Gertrude's  little  home  now.  Hold  the  reins, 
Polly,— I  won't  be  long." 

True  to  his  word,  the  doctor  did  not  keep 


A    HAND    WAS    SLIPPED    INTO    HERS 


MARGERT  AND  POLLT  DINE    325 

them  waiting  long,  which  was  a  relief  to 
Margery,  who  felt  that  she  could  not  endure 
any  more  suspense.  What  fate  was  waiting 
for  her  in  that  stately  white  house,  which, 
through  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees,  she 
could  see  standing  high  on  its  knoll,  with  the 
moon,  struggling  through  the  sweeping  clouds, 
shining  upon  it  ? 

For  the  second  time  that  day  Margery 
arrived  at  Mr.  Morris's  classic  front  door. 
This  time  they  were  not  requested  to  produce 
their  "  tackets,"  but  were  ushered  in,  and  told 
to  make  themselves  as  comfortable  as  they 
could  while  the  doctor  went  up-stairs.  To 
Margery's  disappointment  they  were  not  put 
into  the  library,  but  into  a  small,  formal  re- 
ception-room on  the  other  side  of  the  hall, 
where  there  were  no  photographs  of  loved 
ones  to  give  her  courage  and  help.  Nervously 
twisting  her  handkerchief  between  her  hands, 
she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  small  empire  sofa, 
feeling  as  though  she  could  scream.  Why 
didn't  the  doctor  hurry  ?  What  was  he 
waiting  for?  He  could  have  read  a  thousand 
^letters  in  this  time. 

A   hand    was  slipped   into  hers,   a   warm 


326          MARGERY  MORRIS 

friendly  hand,  and  a  soft  cheek  was  pressed 
against  her  cold  one,  as  Polly  whispered, 
"  Cheer  up,  old  girl,  cheer  up.  It  isn't  a 
matter  of  life  and  death.  There  conies  the 
doctor  now." 

The  doctor  and  Miss  Tucker  came  down  the 
stairs  together,  evidently  discussing  some- 
thing with  amusement. 

"  Well,  my  dears,"  announced  the  doctor 
cheerfully,  as  he  reached  the  doorway,  "  from 
all  the  evidence  I  can  find,  and  I  have  gone 
over  the  letters  very  carefully,  it  appears  that 
Henry  Morris  had  written  to  his  father  all 
about  his  change  of  plans  and  his  decision  to 
send  his  daughter  East  with  friends, — letters 
which  reached  here  after  his  father's  sudden 
illness.  And  it  seems  that  Margery  is  that 
daughter.  Besides,  I  gleaned  a  good  deal 
from  Margery's  conversation  at  the  table 
to-night,  so  that  my  mind  was  made  up 
before  I  came.  Then,  too,"  he  stopped  to 
laugh,  "  in  spite  of  old  Kiley's  opinion, 
Margery  does  resemble  the  picture  hanging  in 
Mr.  Morris's  bedroom.  That  is,  as  much  as 
any  flesh  and  blood  girl  can  look  like  one  of 
these  modern  '  artistic '  dark  brown,  all-in- 


MARGERT  AND  POLLT  DINE    327 

shadow  things, — give  me  a  good  old-fashioned 
tintype  for  a  likeness.  Come,  girls,  we  must 
go.  They  will  send  the  automobile  for  you 
to-morrow  morning,  Margery.  Come,  hurry, 
girls.  It's  getting  late,  and  the  old  doctor  is 
tired,  if  you  aren't." 

Polly  threw  her  arms  around  Margery's 
neck.  "  Oh,  goody,  Marge  !  I'm  so  glad  you 
know  '  where  you're  at,'  as  Missouri  says. 
Isn't  it  perfect,  doctor?  " 

"  Perfect,"  agreed  the  doctor,  absently,  intent 
on  hustling  them  off. 

The  nurse  followed  them  to  the  door,  re- 
marking politely  to  Margery  that  she  was 
glad  that  everything  had  "  turned  out  so 
well." 

Margery  was  too  tired  and  dazed  to  quite 
know  whether  she  was  glad  or  not  at  the 
strange  turn  events  had  taken.  But  weary  as 
she  was  she  was  conscious  of  a  lack  of  enthu- 
siasm in  the  manners  of  her  elders.  She 
detected  that  they  felt  at  best  an  amused  ex- 
asperation that  anybody  could  be  so  stupid 
and  blundering,  so  casual  as  she  had  been. 

As  though  in  answer  to  her  thoughts,  the 
doctor  remarked  half  to  himself,  "  Funny 


328          MARGERT  MORRIS 

now,  Dick  must  have  had  his  suspicions  about 
you, — he's  usually  pretty  bright.  I  suppose 
that  he  was  waiting  for  instructions  how  to 
proceed  from  that  grandfather  of  his.  I 
wonder  why  he  didn't  say  anything.  Or 
Deborah,  either.  I  think  I'll  take  you  home 
first,  Margery,  and  then,  Polly,  I'll  go  home 
with  you  and  have  a  little  chat  with  your 
father, — I'll  wager  he  doesn't  like  the  way  the 
senate's  acting  a  bit  better  than  I  do." 

"If  only  I  hadn't  been  so  stupid,"  moaned 
Margery  to  herself,  as  she  huddled  back  in  a 
corner  of  the  carriage.  "What  will  Mamma 
say  when  I  tell  her?  And  how  shall  I  ever 
tell  them  at  the  farm  ?  Oh,  dear,  I  wonder 
what  the  girls  at  school  will  say.  And  Ben- 
jamin isn't  my  cousin  after  all  I  "  The  tears 
welled  up  at  that.  "  Oh,  dear,  think  of  hav- 
ing to  tell  Dick  that  I'm — I'm — an  im- 
postor ! " 

Telling  Dick,  however,  had  to  be  postponed, 
for  it  was  after  nine  when  she  reached  home, 
and  Dick,  still  in  training  for  football,  had 
already  gone  to  his  room. 

Deborah  was  the  only  one  of  the  household 
up,  and  she  seemed  to  be  far  more  concerned 


MARGERT  AND  POLLY  DINE    329 

by  the  fact  that  Margery  looked  very  tired 
and  pale  than  by  her  extraordinary  news. 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  can  tell  me  all  about  it  to- 
morrow. You  look  tired  out,  child  I  Yes, 
dear,  I  suspected  that  something  was  queer, — 
that  is,  lately  I  have ;  and  Dick  has  all  along, 
I  think.  But  Dick's  not  being  able  to  get 
into  touch  with  his  grandfather  upset  things. 
But  you  must  go  to  bed  at  once,  child.  Are 
you  sure  that  coat  is  warm  enough  for  this 
weather  ?  Dear  me,  how  I  shall  miss  you  ! 
I  dread  telling  the  news  to  Benjamin, — the 
little  chap  has  been  so  proud  of  his  pretty 
cousin.  Yes,  dear, — it  was  rather  too  bad 
that  you  weren't  rather  more  communicative 
when  you  first  came  ;  it  would  have  saved 
some  trouble, — but  you  mustn't  talk  any  more 
about  it  to-night !  Go  right  up  to  bed,  and 
I'll  bring  you  up  some  hot  cocoa.  Poor  little 
Benjamin  ! — he'll  be  so  disappointed." 

Deborah  bustled  off,  and  Margery  dragged 
herself  up  to  bed. 

"  Now  drink  this,"  said  J)eborah,  coming 
in  with  a  cup  of  cocoa  in  her  hand.  "  Time 
enough  in  the  morning  to  talk  !  I've  filled 
the  hot-water  bag,  for  I'm  afraid  that  you 


330          MARGERT  MORRIS 

have  taken  cold  driving  in  that  thin  coat 
this  damp  evening.  Good-night." 

She  spread  the  quilt  over  Margery,  and 
opening  the  window,  and  blowing  out  the 
lamp,  she  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

Left  alone,  Margery  buried  her  head  in  the 
pillow,  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,  dear,"  she 
gasped  between  sobs,  "  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever 
be  able  to  face  anybody  in  Renwyck's  Town 
again i  " 

She  was  too  tired  to  cry  long,  however. 
Soon  she  was  asleep,  and  dreaming  that  a 
fierce-eyed,  angry  Mr.  Morris  pointed  an  ac- 
cusing finger  at  her,  and  thundered : 

"  She  is  an  impostor  I " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AT    LAST 

MARGERY  woke  the  next  morning  with  the 
sense  that  something  had  happened,  but  she 
could  not  think  what  it  was.  Half  awake 
she  lay  dreamily  watching  the  window  cur- 
tain flapping  in  the  breeze.  "  Oh,"  she 
ejaculated  suddenly,  "  of  course !  " 

With  a  groan  she  dragged  herself  out  from 
under  the  warm  bedclothes,  and  banged  down 
the  window.  A  glance  at  her  watch  told  her 
that  it  was  almost  breakfast  time ;  she  must 
dress  as  quickly  as  she  could  and  hurry  down- 
stairs to  tell  the  strange  news  to  Dick. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  she  sighed  as  she  laced 
her  shoes,  "  I'll  have  it  over  soon." 

She  found  Dick  in  the  dining-room,  down 
on  hands  and  knees  before  the  fireplace,  blow- 
ing at  a  rather  dismal  fire  to  make  it  burn 
brighter. 

331 


332          MARGERY  MORRIS 

"  Dick  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  have  the  most  dread- 
ful news  to  tell  you  !  " 

Dick  turned  around,  his  cheeks  still  puffed 
out.  Margery  giggled  hysterically  at  his 
absurd  appearance. 

"  Er — I "  said  Dick,  as  soon  as  he 

could  speak. 

"  I'm  not  your  cousin  after  all.  I  don't 
even  belong  here  !  I — I — just  came  here — 
and — and — settled  down  as  though  I  owned 
things !  I'm  the  other  Mr.  Morris's  grand- 
daughter !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are." 

"  Oh,  Dick, — how  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  Deborah  told  me,  for  one  thing." 

"  Isn't  it  the  most  mortifying  thing  I  To 
think  that  /  should  be  an  impostor  !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Margery  !  You  didn't 
do  it  to  deceive  anybody.  It  was  all  my 
fault,  anyway." 

11  How  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  known  what  to  do  about  it," 
Dick  went  on,  sitting  back  on  his  heels.  "  I 
felt  sure,  right  from  the  very  first,  that  you 
didn't  belong  here ;  but  Grandfather  is  so 
peculiar  that  it  would  be  like  him  to  have  a 


AT  LAST  333 

girl  coming  here  and  never  say  a  word  about 
it  to  us, — not  that  he  isn't  a  fine  old  boy,"  he 
threw  in  loyally. 

"  Of  course,  the  natural  thing  to  do  was  to 
pump  you, — but  Great  Scott,  every  time  that 
I  tried  to  ask  you  a  question  you  were  so  sav- 
age I  gave  it  up !  Besides,  I  knew  if  your 
coming  here  was  all  right,  and  I  worried  you, 
I'd  catch  it  from  Grandfather  when  he  came 
home.  And  then,"  Dick  poked  the  fire  rather 
shamefacedly,  "  I  didn't  like  to  do  anything 
to  hurt  a  girl's  feelings.  But  wasn't  it  funny 
tke  way  you  happened  to  wander  in  to  Mr.  Mor- 
ris's and  stumble  on  those  pictures  ?  Hadn't 
you  ever  suspected  before  that  you  might  fit 
in  there  ?  " 

Margery  paid  no  attention  to  his  questions. 
"  But  Dick, — you  guessed  right  away  that  I 
didn't  belong  here  ?  " 

"  Sure, — you  didn't  fit  into  being  my  es- 
teemed uncle's  daughter  somehow.  Though 
Uncle  Harry  has  moved  from  state  to  state 
such  a  lot,  and  been  on  the  edge  of  making  a 
fortune  so  often,  that  I  didn't  know  but  what 
he  had  gone  to  California  and  put  it  over  at 
last.  Not  that  I  care  what  he  does,"  and  the 


334          MARGERY  MORRIS 

note  of  bitterness  crept  into  Dick's  voice  ;  "he 
was  too  mean  to  Mother  for  me  to  take  any 
stock  in  him." 

"  But  Dick, — why  did  you  just  let  me  stay 
here  ?  Why  didn't  you  try  to  do  something 
about  me  ?  " 

Dick  stood  up  and  brushed  the  dust  off  his 
knees.  "  I  did,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  wrote 
to  Grandfather  the  first  night  you  came  to  ask 
him  if  everything  was  all  right.  He  was  go- 
ing so  from  one  little  town  to  the  other,  and 
from  ranch  to  ranch,  that  the  letters  didn't 
catch  up  to  him, — but  you  know  all  about  the 
time  we  have  had  over  letters.  They  finally 
did  catch  up  to  him,  and  I  had  a  letter  from 
Grandfather  yesterday  after  you  had  gone 
in  to  Polly's, — you  didn't  know  that,  I  sup- 
pose. Grandfather  said  that  he  was  quite 
sure  that  there  must  be  a  mistake  somewhere. 
He  had  had  no  word  from  Uncle  Harry  about 
any  of  the  family  coming  on, — and  he  said, 
too,  that  my  dear  uncle's  daughter's  name  is 
Elizabeth,  not  Margaret — they  always  call  her 
Princess  or  Bunnie  or  some  such  trash,  or 
they  used  to,  anyway, — so  I  was  pretty  shaky 
on  her  name.  Grandfather  jumped  at  once 


AT  LAST  335 

to  the  idea  that  you  must  belong  to  the  other 
Henry  Morris,  and  said  that  he  remembered 
Mr.  Morris  saying  something  about  having  a 
granddaughter  named  after  the  original  Mar- 
garet. The  rest  of  the  letter  was  taken  up 
with  telling  me  that  he  would  be  home  very 
shortly,  and  if  nothing  else  turned  up,  to 
make  you  comfortable  until  he  reached 
here." 

"  Then  he  wasn't  angry  ?  " 

"  No,  he  didn't  seem  to  be.  He  took  it  for 
granted  that  you  belonged  at  the  other  house. 
Mr.  Morris  is  about  the  only  person  here- 
abouts that  he  likes  very  much, — besides,  we 
are  cousins,  you  know.  About  fifty-sixth 
ones  !  Of  course,  when  you  first  came,  I  con- 
nected you  right  away  with  the  other  Mr. 
Morris, — I  rode  over  there,  too,  to  see.  You 
remember,  I  went  there  the  day  you  rode 
Tempe  Wick.  There  wasn't  anybody  to  ask 
about  you  but  the  trained  nurse,  who  said 
that  Mr.  Morris  was  too  sick  to  see  anybody. 
That  nurse  was  some  dame,  I  can  assure  you  I 
I  hear  that  she's  the  night  nurse  now,  and 
that  they've  got  a  peach  for  a  day  nurse. 
Anyway,  the  one  I  saw  froze  me  with  an  icy 


336         MARGERT  MORRIS 

glance,  and  said  positively  no  granddaughter 
was  being  expected,  and  evidently  thought  I 
wanted  to  flirt  with  said  unexpected  grand- 
daughter. And  then  she  turned  away  as 
though  I  had  been  a  worm  that  she  had 
stepped  on,  and  that  she  didn't  like  the  looks 
of,  after  she  had  done  the  stepping,  and  began 
to  talk  to  one  of  the  maids.  So  I  beat  it. 
Then  I  inquired  around — cautiously,  you  bet, 
for  the  gossip  that  goes  on  in  this  town  is 
enough  to  kill  a  cat — but  none  of  the  other 
Morrises  seemed  to  be  missing  anybody.  So 
there  has  been  so  much  clacking  over  Grand- 
father's boundary  rows,  and  all  the  company 
that  we  have,  that  I  just  decided  to  wait  until 
I  heard  from  him  definitely  before  I  gave 
the  old  tabbies  anything  more  to  chuckle 


over." 


Margery  sat  still,  thinking.  In  the  first 
excitement  of  the  great  discovery  she  had 
forgotten  that  evening  in  the  library  when 
Dick  had  suggested  tentatively  that  her  arri- 
val at  the  farm  might  be  a  mistake,  and  she 
had  grown  so  angry  at  him  that  he  declared 
that  he  would  never  mention  the  subject  to 
her  again.  Now,  looking  back,  it  seemed 


AT  LAST  337 

to  her  as  though  it  must  have  been  some 
other  girl,  instead  of  herself,  who  had  spoken 
so. 

"  Dick,"  she  began  timidly,  "  did  Deborah 
know?" 

Dick  looked  at  her  over  the  top  of  the 
paper  he  had  picked  up.  "  Eh  ?  Oh,  no. 
Not  at  first,  at  any  rate.  Poor  little  Debo- 
rah's had  enough  worries  ever  since  she's 
been  here,  and  I  thought  my  shoulders  were 
broad  enough  to  bear  the  burden  until  I 
knew,"  he  finished  with  a  manly,  resolute 
expression  that  contrasted  oddly  with  his 
boyish  face. 

"  Didn't  you  tell  her  at  all  ?  " 

"Well, — when  I  began  to  get  so  fidgety 
about  Grandfather's  not  answering  my  let- 
ters, she  knew  something  was  up,  and  she 
pinned  me  down  until  I  told  her.  I  wish 
you  could  have  heard  her  then,"  and  Dick 
chuckled.  "  She  gave  me  a  regular  tearing 
out.  Told  me  that  anybody  with  any  sense 
would  have  told  her  all  about  it  right  away, 
and  then  with  her  woman's  tact  she  could 
have  gleaned  all  the  facts  from  you  without 
hurting  your  feelings,  or  letting  you  know 


338          MARGERT  MORRIS 

that  there  was  any  gleaning  going  on.  Oh, 
she  got  quite  indignant — wanted  to  know  how 
she  was  to  be  expected  to  keep  the  Morris 
family  straight  when  they  didn't  seem  to 
have  sense  enough  to  know  whether  they 
were  going  or  coming.  Oh,  I  had  no  idea 
before  that  Deborah  had  so  much  pep  to  her. 
Then  finally  she  said  that  as  I  had  let  things 
slide  so  without  telling  her,  I  had  better  wait 
until  I  heard  from  Grandfather  before  I  took 
any  steps,  and  twisted  things  up  any  more. 
Then  she  was  too  ill,  after  that,  to  worry 
much  about  things, — so  we  just  waited." 

The  door  opened  and  Benjamin  bounced  in. 
"  Oh,  Margie,"  he  cried,  "  Deborah  has  told 
me, — and  I'm  so  sorry  you're  going  away ! 
I'll  miss  you  awful  much,  Margie  !  " 

He  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and 
with  a  pang  Margery  held  him  close  to  her. 

"  Deborah,"  said  Margery  miserably,  as  she 
packed  her  bag  a  little  later  in  the  morning, 
"isn't  it  dreadful?  I — I  feel  as  though  I 
never  wanted  to  look  anybody  in  the  face 
again  1 " 

Deborah  looked  up  from  the  dressing  gown 
she  was  folding.  "  There's  no  use  in  tak- 


AT  LAST  339 

ing  it  like  that,  child,"  she  said  practi- 
cally. "  You  made  a  mistake,  of  course, — 
most  of  us  do,  sooner  or  later.  But  you  also 
brought  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  to  a  little 
child,  and  you  helped  to  make  a  sick  old 
woman  comfortable.  If  I  were  you,  dear, 
I'd  think  more  about  that  side  of  it.  And 
I'd  think  still  more  about  the  things  you  can 
do  to  make  your  grandfather  happy.  He 
will  probably  be  a  long  time  getting  back 
his  strength,  and  he  will  need  somebody 
young  and  cheerful  about  the  house  to  en- 
courage him,  and  to  keep  him  amused.  Per- 
haps," she  stopped  to  laugh,  "  if  you  hadn't 
had  me  to  practice  upon  you  wouldn't  have 
known  how  to  do  it.  And  I  do  think,  dear," 
she  went  on  seriously,  "  that  you  are  needed 
there.  Your  grandfather  has  been  far  more 
lonely  than  he  realized,  I  imagine, — or  than 
was  good  for  him.  It's  not  well  for  anybody 
to  live  such  a  solitary  existence,  even  if  he 
does  think  that  he  prefers  it.  You  have  your 
work  before  you :  just  to  bring  sunshine  to 
the  old  house." 

Margery   winked    away    the    tears.     "  I'll 
try,"  she  said  humbly. 


340         MARGERT  MORRIS 

At  ten  the  automobile  came  for  her,  and 
carried  her  away  to  her  new  home. 

Miss  Tucker  met  her  at  the  door  when  she 
arrived  at  the  White  House.  "  I'll  take 
you  right  up  to  the  room  you  are  to  have," 
she  explained.  "  And  then  about  eleven 
o'clock  you  may  see  your  grandfather  for 
a  few  minutes.  Come  up  as  quietly  as  you 
can." 

Miss  Tucker  led  the  way  up  the  wide  Co- 
lonial stairway  that  rose  from  the  back  of  the 
hall.  Margery  followed,  vainly  trying  to  look 
about  her,  and  to  listen  to  Miss  Tucker  at  the 
same  time.  So  this  was  to  be  her  home  for 
the  rest  of  the  winter ! 

"  We  have  told  your  grandfather  that  you 
have  come  on  unexpectedly  early,"  the  nurse 
continued,  crossing  the  wide  upper  corridor, 
"  and  he  wants  to  see  you.  Of  course,  for  the 
present,  we  have  not  mentioned  that  there  was 
any  mix-up  about  your  reaching  here.  It 
might  worry  or  excite  him, — and  that  would 
never  do ! "  She  stopped  with  her  hand  on 
the  knob  of  a  door.  "  Both  Miss  Betz  and  I 
are  strangers  here  in  Renwyck's  Town, — we 
were  called  here  only  for  this  case.  So  we 


AT  LAST  341 

don't  know  many  family  details, — I'm  sorry  I 
wasn't  able  to  be  of  more  help  to  you  yester- 
day." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  they  entered  a 
large,  sunny  room,  luxuriously  and  comforta- 
bly furnished. 

"  I  don't  know  what  room  your  grandfather 
will  wish  you  to  have,  Miss  Morris,  but  this 
will  do  for  the  present,  I'm  sure.  Can  I  help 
you  to  unpack?  No?  Well,  then, I'll  leave 
you  for  a  while." 

In  a  few  minutes  Miss  Tucker  was  back. 
"  Mr.  Morris  is  awake  now,"  she  said,  "  and 
wants  to  see  you.  Be  as  bright  and  cheerful 
as  you  can, — and  don't  talk  too  long." 

They  crossed  the  corridor  again  to  a  suite  of 
rooms  in  the  library  wing  of  the  house. 
"  Here  he  is,"  Miss  Tucker  whispered,  opening 
a  door.  "  Go  in.  But  don't  stay  too  long,  re- 
member." 

Margery  stood  still  a  moment,  shyly  looking 
at  her  grandfather  propped  up  on  the  pillows 
of  a  great,  four-post  bed. 

He  smiled  at  her  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Well,  little  girl,"  he  said  softly. 

Margery  forgot  her  shyness  at  the  sight  of  the 


342          MARGERT  MORRIS 

dear,  remembered  face,  now  so  white  against 
the  pillows. 

"  Oh,  Grandpapa,"  she  cried,  hurrying  across 
the  room  to  him,  "  it's  so  perfect  to  be  with 
you  at  last." 


The  Stories  in  this  Series  are  : 
MARGERY  MORRIS 
MARGERY  MORRIS,  MASCOT  (in  press) 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
I    II    II    III  I  II     II  II    I        III 


A     000  053  633    4 


